


Complications

by flawedamythyst



Series: Complications [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Main Pairing is Clint/Bucky, Mention of past violence towards children, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 84,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's got a plan to retire and go find himself a simple life at his family's old farm. Simple is good, right? Easy to remember. Simple is why he doesn't really mind that his soul-print has never activated, because a soulmate could only add another layer of complexity to his life.</p><p>And then the Winter Soldier turns up at his archery range on the Avengers base, and simple slips through Clint's fingers.</p><p>Post Age-of-Ultron (minus Clint's wife&kids) Soulmate AU.</p><p>Massive thanks to Chucksauce for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On the mornings when Clint was woken up early by a nightmare, he took himself outside to the range that was half-hidden in the trees behind the base to push it aside with the familiar rhythms of shooting. Some days it worked better than others. Today, it only took an hour or two before his mind was half on what he was doing and half on whether or not he should completely rebuild the porch at the farm, or if it just needed a new roof.

Which was when he became aware that he was being watched.

He let the arrow he had ready fly before turning to see who was there. At first glance, the figure dressed in baggy black clothes looked like a tramp. Clint was trying to work out how their security had got so lax that the homeless were just wandering onto the base when the sunlight glinted off a metal hand.

He had an arrow notched and aimed before he'd even thought about it.

The man was dressed in an over-sized hoodie with the hood pulled up over tangled dark hair but it only took Clint a moment to connect his face, his metal hand, and the surveillance photos that Steve and Sam kept leaving lying around as part of their on-going search for the Winter Soldier. Clint took a deep breath and reminded himself that killing Steve's childhood best friend was probably a bad idea, but he didn't relax his bow.

"Can I help?" he asked.

The Winter Soldier held up his palms as if in surrender, but it was going to take more than that for Clint to stand down. He'd heard way too many horror stories about this guy. 

"I'm looking for Captain America," he said in a voice that sounded rusty and unused.

Right. And last time he'd been looking for Steve, it had been so he could kill him. He didn't look particularly homicidal at the moment, but that didn't mean Clint was taking any chances.

"What do you want with him?" he asked.

The Soldier shifted his weight on his feet and Clint tensed his arms, ready to fire. "I want to surrender to him."

Okay, Clint wasn't expecting that. He held position for another few moments, searching the Soldier's face, then let out a sigh, lowering his bow. There was a look in the guy's eyes that he thought he recognised, both from when he'd first met Natasha, and when he'd looked in the mirror after Loki.

"You even look at him wrong, I'm not going to be the only one coming after you," he said. “We'll take you apart, legendary assassin or not.”

The Soldier nodded. "Got it."

Clint had to take one hand off his bow to pull his phone out of his pocket, which made him feel pretty vulnerable, but the Soldier just stood their patiently as Clint dialled Steve.

"Hi," he said when Steve picked up. "You might want to come out to my range. Got an old friend of yours here."

"Who is it?" asked Steve.

Clint snorted. "Come on, Steve. How many old friends do you have?"

There was a pause, then Steve snapped, "Keep him there," and hung up.

Clint tucked his phone back in his pocket. "He's on his way," he told the Soldier.

The Winter Soldier gave a curt nod. Clint saw him take a deep breath, as if bracing himself, and wondered what it felt like to have to face your best friend after seventy years of being a brainwashed assassin, not to mention trying to kill him.

Mind you, Clint's best friend was Natasha, who would probably just shrug and give Clint a shot of vodka. That was basically what she'd done after he'd spent three days as Loki's brainwashed assassin, after all, and he couldn't see another few decades changing that.

Okay, so, she'd also hit him, but that was just her way of showing affection.

They stood in silence for long enough for it to start to feel a bit awkward, then the Winter Soldier nodded towards Clint's arrow-studded bullseye.

"Good shot."

"Yep," agreed Clint. "Kinda what I'm known for."

The Winter Soldier's gaze focused over his shoulder and he took another deep breath, firming his shoulders. Clint assumed that Steve had come into view but didn't turn to look. Instead, he lifted his bow again, bracing himself.

"Stand down, Hawkeye," said Steve, coming up behind him.

Code name, which meant he intended it as an order. Clint ignored him. If he let Captain America get gutted, Natasha would never let him hear the end of it. Also, it was probably treason or something.

Steve walked past Clint and stopped a few metres away from the Winter Soldier. "Hi, Bucky."

The Soldier stared at him for a long few seconds. "Hi, Steve," he said eventually.

"You remember?" asked Steve, and he couldn't quite keep the excitement out of his voice.

The Winter Soldier shook his head. "Bits. Very small bits." He hesitated, then added. "That's why I'm here. I want to remember more."

"That's great," said Steve. "Bucky, it's so great to have you here."

The Winter Soldier shook his head. "I don't know that I'm that guy. It's not- my head's a mess."

"Then we'll get it in order," said Steve, with far more confidence than Clint felt was due. Steve stepped forward, holding his hand out. "Come on, come inside."

The Winter Soldier hesitated and glanced at Clint, who still had his bow trained on him. Steve glanced over his shoulder and gave Clint a meaningful look.

Clint sighed and lowered it. "At least get him to leave his weapons behind."

Steve looked as if he hadn't even considered that the Winter Soldier, infamous badass assassin of awesome, might have weapons on him. "Uh, yeah," he said, and looked at the Winter Soldier.

For a moment, Clint thought the Winter Soldier was going to bolt. His eyes darted from side to side, then fixed on Steve.

"Come on," said Steve, quietly. "Please, Bucky."

The Winter Soldier clenched his hands into fists, then reluctantly nodded. "Right." He reached around to his back and pulled a handgun out, and then another one from under the front of his hoodie. He held them uncertainly for a moment.

"Just leave them there," said Clint. "I'll take care of them."

The Winter Soldier fixed Clint with an intense look, as if trying to see into his soul to judge his trustworthiness, then set the guns down. An impressive collection of knives, pulled from various parts of his clothing, followed. When he was done, he looked back at Clint.

"You will take care of them," he said, in a voice that threatened all kinds of pain if he didn't.

Clint glanced down at the pile. "Well, I can't juggle that many knives, so I guess I'll have to."

That earned him a very dark look that Clint returned with a shit-eating grin. If they were going to house an ex-HYDRA killer, he might as well have a bit of fun with it. Well, until he ended up getting murdered in his sleep, anyway, but that probably wouldn't happen. Probably.

"Come on, Bucky," said Steve. "We'll get you some coffee. And maybe a shower."

That meant the glare got turned on him, although it was decidedly more half-hearted. The Winter Soldier crossed to where Steve was holding out an arm to him. Steve reached out as if to touch but he flinched away. Steve dropped his arm and they set out together towards the main base.

"I've got some photos from back before," Clint heard Steve say. "Some of the Howling Commandos that people have sent me since I woke up, and a couple of old ones of Brooklyn. Maybe they'll jog your memory."

Clint watched them go, then turned to look back at the small arsenal on the grass. At some point, Natasha had appeared next to it.

"This will be interesting," she said, watching Steve and the Winter Soldier walk away.

"Yeah," agreed Clint. "Still, better interesting than boring, right?"

"Depends on how much pain is involved," she said, then melted back into the trees.

"Don't offer to help me carry all this lot then," Clint called after her.

There was no answer. Great.

****

After the shitstorm that had been Sokovia, Clint hadn't really intended to stay on as an Avenger. He'd lain on the evacuation ship next to the body of a kid who'd got riddled with bullets saving his life, aching all over, and thought about his farm. This business seemed to be becoming increasingly about special powers and magic, and an ordinary guy who just happened to be good with a bow couldn't keep up. It was going to take him days to recover from this one, where most of the other Avengers – and there seemed to be a whole load of them now – would probably be fine by the morning. It was time to retire.

When he'd told the others, thinking that it would go unnoticed amongst the other, more high-profile retirements, Steve had put his hand on his shoulder, looked him straight in the eyes, and asked for his help and, well, no one could resist Captain America doing that. Clint had agreed to stay long enough to help train up the new guys, just for a few weeks while Steve and Natasha built their new team, and then he'd retire.

Somehow, six months later he was still living at the base. There just always seemed to be an emergency that needed dealing with, or Wanda wanted a few weeks of hand-to-hand practice, or Tony was swinging by to spend a couple of days upgrading their computer systems and there was no way Clint was going to miss out on the 'totally impromptu' party that he'd almost certainly instigate. And then Colonel Rhodes got sent on a long mission by the Air Force, and Clint should really stick around until he got back, right? He couldn't leave them down a guy.

He definitely couldn't leave them down a guy if they were inviting enemy agents to come stay.

The news that Steve's BFF was on site travelled fast. Tony called Clint from New York to interrogate him about whether or not he thought it was going to end with a bloodbath.

"Cuz, I got plans for today that don't include putting on the suit and coming over there to bail you losers out."

"I think we'll be okay," said Clint. He was perched on one of the rafters he pretended not to know had been designed into the building solely for his use and watched as Steve introduced the Winter Soldier to Wanda and Vision without once using the words 'cold-blooded killing machine'. Sam was hanging back against a wall, trying not to frown too obviously. Clint figured that was fair; he'd probably be pretty iffy if his soulmate was suddenly hanging out with guy who'd come seriously close to killing him last time they met.

“We've got the systems on the highest security setting,” he told Tony, “and I've got most of his weapons locked away. He's got a couple of seriously nice throwing knives, by the way, think he'll notice if I pinch them?”

“You really think stealing weapons from the Winter Soldier is a good idea?” asked Tony.

Clint considered it. “Yeah, okay, fine. I guess I'll just have to lust at them from afar.”

“I'm more concerned that you only have _most_ of his weapons locked away.”

“I'm guessing,” said Clint. “I mean, I really doubt Steve did a pat down, and I seriously doubt he'd have given everything up that easily. I know I wouldn't have.”

“Great,” said Tony with a sigh. “I am going to end up having to come out there to blow some shit up.”

Clint scoffed. “As if you don't love blowing shit up.”

“Not stuff I'll have to rebuild, like high-tech superhero hang-outs,” said Tony. “That shit gets expensive, and then Pepper gives me that look – yeah, that one. Okay, honey, dial it down, I'm coming.”

“Too much information, honey,” said Clint back, and got a snort of amusement.

“We've got a dull as shit meeting,” said Tony. “Text me if a killing spree gets underway.”

He hung up and Clint tucked his phone away but stayed where he was, watching as Steve ushered the Winter Soldier off in the direction of his and Sam's suite. Sam followed along behind them.

Vision turned to stare up at Clint's perch. “The information I can access on recovery from extreme brainwashing is not reassuring.”

Clint shrugged down at him. “Any of it relate to guys who have been souped up with knock-off super-soldier serum?”

“No,” admitted Vision. “That does not necessarily mean it's incorrect.”

“The human brain is an incredible thing,” said Clint with more optimism than he felt. After all, he'd been fine after he'd been brainwashed. Eventually.

****

Clint didn't see the Winter Soldier again for nearly forty-eight hours. He'd holed up in Steve and Sam's apartment with Steve while the others all tensely waited for the alarm that something had gone horribly wrong. Even Sam was on the outside for a bit.

“I figure they need some space,” he said to Clint as they made up a bed for him in one of the guest rooms. “Seventy years is a long time. There's a lot of history for them to catch up on.”

“Is he remembering more?” asked Clint as he pulled out a few blankets.

Sam shrugged. “Steve says he is. Who knows how much he'll get back, though. I mean, even without being erased every few years, no one remembers stuff from seventy years ago that clearly.”

“I know I don't,” said Clint, earning himself a smile. “What did he say when Steve told him about you?”

“He was freaked,” admitted Sam. “He remembered that Steve had had a soulmate before, but not that he had two prints. Went into a bit of a meltdown, claiming I was an imposter. We had to show him our prints to calm him down, but even then- I don't know. It's one of the reasons I thought it might be best to step back for a bit.”

Steve was the only person Clint had ever known with two soulprints. One on his chest that had activated the first time Peggy Carter had touched him, which was a story everyone and their mother knew, and one on his palm that had lit up the first time he'd shaken Sam's hand. That story they were all keeping quiet about for now, in the interests of keeping the media and super-villain interest in Steve's love life to a minimum.

“Rough,” he said to Sam.

“Yeah, well, hopefully it'll just take time,” said Sam with a shrug.

Time. Something that they all needed but never seemed to get in the superhero business.

Clint left Sam to it, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed him pressing his finger to the dark lines of his print. 

Sam and Steve had activated within minutes of meeting each other by shaking hands. That was pretty much the most common way for soulmates to meet, which was why so many people had their prints on their right hands.

Clint's was on his right forearm, high enough up to mean that the first time his soulmate touched him wasn't going to be handshake. When he'd been a kid he'd spent hours coming up with all the different ways for someone to touch him there, imagining all kinds of convoluted meetings, like the ones in the sappy kind of movies.

Thirty years later and the fingerprint etched on his skin was still the light brown of an unactivated print. He told himself that was fine, he didn't need someone else to complete him or whatever, and besides, he was kinda busy being the best shot on the planet and a god-damn superhero to boot. When was he even meant to find time for a soulmate?

****

The next day was a Friday, which was unofficially designated as Team Night. Unless there was something going on, they all tended to gather in the communal lounge and put on a movie or play a game.

Clint didn't know if he was expecting Cap to show up until he came in with the Winter Soldier in tow and he realised that of _course_ he'd bring his assassin buddy along and try and get the team to warm up to him.

It wasn't the most effective plan. Natasha stiffened at the sight of the Soldier and Clint knew she was mentally counted how many weapons were available to her. Wanda stared at him with hard eyes that said she hadn't decided if she was going to pull his mind out and play with it or not yet. Sam quietly melted into the background and Vision, well, you didn't get much of a read off Vision on the best of days.

Just as Clint was figuring that it must be up to him to somehow break the ice, the Winter Soldier fixed a glare at him. “How are my things?”

Clint blinked before realising that he meant his weapons. “Uh, fine,” he said. “All safely locked away. Seriously, no need to worry.” And hey, maybe that was his ice-breaker. “Those throwing knives are seriously nice, by the way. Where did you get them?”

“I took them from the corpse of an enemy.”

Right, okay, so much for that.

“Ah, I'm not really meant to do that. Bad press, you know,” he said. “Who wants popcorn?”

He escaped to the kitchen. This was going to be a seriously long night.

They watched a movie Clint had seen a bunch of times before, which meant he was able to spend most of it subtly watching the Winter Soldier and trying to work out just how worried about him he should be. He'd sat in the corner of the sofa next to Steve, hunched down as if trying to hide and with his metal arm wrapped protectively around him. He watched the film with a faintly confused expression that made Clint think he hadn't had a lot of chances for going to the cinema. 

Towards the end, he turned his head and fixed a long stare on Clint that made it very clear just how aware he had been of the scrutiny and then turned back to the screen without another word. Clint winced and rubbed at his forearm, turning his attention back to the screen.

After the movie, the Winter Soldier slipped off almost immediately, leaving Steve frowning after him.

“How's he doing?” asked Natasha, with the look that meant she was really asking _how many weapons do I need to sleep with?_

“Better,” said Steve. “He's remembered so much just since he got here, and he gets more like Bucky all the time.”

“He has changed, though,” said Sam. “Steve, don't kid yourself. He's not the same man you knew back then.”

Steve shook his head. “I know. And I'm not the same man he knew, either.” He put his hand on Sam's arm. “Come back to our room tonight. I'm done with hiding.”

Sam gave him a soft smile and Clint glanced away.

“So he's not experiencing any negative cognitive episodes?” asked Vision.

Steve hesitated. “Ah...”

“That sounds like something the team should know about,” said Wanda.

“Fine,” said Steve, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Sometimes he forgets where he is. And, um, occasionally he forgets who he is, but I'm sure it's something we can work through.”

“Is he violent?” asked Natasha.

“No,” said Steve. “Well, not- he's easily talked down.”

“Great,” said Clint. “That's just the kind of reassuring statement I like to hear about someone who lives with me. I'll be sleeping soundly tonight.”

Steve sent him a glare. “Bucky will not hurt anyone here,” he said, with every ounce of Captain America confidence he had. Clint tried to make himself immune by remembering that this was the same guy who had taken a year to learn not to sign off a text with 'yours sincerely', but the power of the Captain America voice was not to be denied.

“If Tony actually has to come and rescue us, we're never hearing the end of that,” he pointed out.

Steve huffed. “Tony worries too much.”

Which, frankly, was hilarious coming from him. Clint caught Natasha's eye and saw her thinking the same thing, and had to hide a smirk.

“Okay, bedtime,” he said, getting up. “Here's to us all being un-murdered in the morning.”

****

Hours later, Clint was in bed and half-asleep when his lights flashed to let him know that someone was at his door. He thought about ignoring it and pretending to be asleep, but he couldn't think of anyone who would turn up at his door in the middle of the night without a good reason.

He pulled himself out of bed without bothering to throw a shirt on and went through to his lounge to open the door and found pretty much the last person he was expecting there.

The Winter Soldier stared at Clint's chest long enough for him to really regret not putting a shirt on, then blinked and looked up at his face.

"Sorry," he said, and then something else that Clint couldn't lipread in the dim light of the corridor.

"Hang on," he said. "I can't hear you, give me a sec."

He dashed back into his bedroom for his hearing aids and grabbed a shirt while he was at it. When he got back into the lounge, the Winter Soldier had come inside and was looking around with obvious interest.

"Do you make your own arrows?" he asked, looking at the scattered fletching supplies on the coffee table.

"Sometimes," said Clint. "More often I fiddle with ones I've got from somewhere else."

"It's one of those things were a little change can make a lot of difference, right?" said the Winter Soldier.

"Yeah," agreed Clint. There was a tiny pause as the Winter Soldier continued to look around at the other things in the room - the enormous purple beanbag chair in the corner got a long look, but Clint refused to feel any shame. It was comfy, okay?

Eventually, the Winter Soldier's gaze came back to Clint. He cleared his throat and held out a piece of paper. "I thought you might like this."

Clint frowned as he read the website address on it. "What's this?"

The Winter Soldier shrugged, his metal shoulder moving in complete sync with his real one. Whatever else you said about it, you had to admit that arm was an incredible piece of engineering.

“I managed to remember whose corpse I took those throwing knives from,” he said, sounding stilted which, fair, he was talking about someone he murdered and then robbed. “The mission briefing I was given on her included enough detail for me to work out where she got them from. They have an online shop.”

Clint looked back at the paper. “Oh, awesome,” he said, surprised. Wait, was that the wrong reaction to have given the whole corpse thing?

“They don't have exactly the same ones, but there's a set that's pretty similar,” said the Winter Soldier.

Clint had no idea what to make of him coming to his rooms in the middle of the night to pass over info about a good place to buy weaponry. Was this was what Steve had meant by him getting more like Bucky and the personality that HYDRA had imposed on him was starting to flake away? 

But then, tracking down an obscure knife manufacturer just because of one throwaway comment from Clint was one thing; showing up at his door in the middle of the night to share it was another. It wasn't exactly stone-cold killer behaviour, but it wasn't normal either. Was he just really enthusiastic? Hadn't noticed what the time was? Was trying to get Clint alone and with his guard down?

He glanced up at the Winter Soldier's face to see a tentative, nervous look in his eyes, and the kind of black expression that Natasha usually used when she was at the edge of her emotional comfort zone.

Aw man, Clint couldn't fight against that. Screw it, time to take a chance and assume Captain America knew what he was talking about. He found a smile. “Thanks, Barnes. That's great.”

Bucky smiled hesitantly back, transforming his face into something completely different. Wow, okay, so that was why he'd had a reputation as a lady-killer, back in the day. Before he became an actual killer of ladies.

“Thanks for not shooting me when you first saw me,” he said.

Clint shrugged. “Cap would have given me his disappointed look if I had.”

“The one that makes you feel about the size of an ant?” said Bucky. “Yeah, that one sucks.” He glanced around as if noticing for the first time that it was dark. “Uh, I should let you get back to bed.”

Clint nodded. “Okay, well, thanks for this,” he said holding up the paper.

“No problem,” said Bucky. “Good night.”

He left Clint with no idea of how to interpret the weird conversation, so he settled for just tucking the paper away and going back to bed.

****

The problem with letting the Winter Soldier become Bucky was that Clint started noticing just how hot he was. When he'd been mentally classifying him as a threat, that hadn't been a problem.

You'd think he'd be used to being around attractive people given the looks of the other Avengers, but somehow it blind-sided him every time Bucky followed Steve into the kitchen in a tight t-shirt or Clint came across them sparring in the gym, Bucky's legs firmly planted on the mat and his ass looking fucking spectacular.

“Hi,” he said, and Steve glanced over and gave him a nod. Bucky took advantage of the distraction to bowl Steve over backwards, pinning him to the mat.

“Ah, come on, Buck, I wasn't ready,” said Steve, tapping at his shoulder to get him to let him up.

Bucky sat back with a grin. “You've always been a sore loser,” he said. “I remember you saying the same thing when I used to beat you racing to the end of the road.”

“You remember that?” asked Steve, also sitting up, looking eager.

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “Just came back to me. I won every time.”

“Okay, no offence but wasn't Steve, like, tiny and asthmatic?” asked Clint. “I'm not sure it's that impressive to have beaten a sick kid who was smaller than you.”

“I wasn't that bad,” protested Steve.

Bucky snorted. “You really were, Stevie.” He looked over at Clint and shrugged. “I used to run at half-speed so that he just about nearly beat me, then dash ahead at the last minute.”

“What?” said Steve. “Oh, you punk!” He launched himself at Bucky, bowling him over on his back.

Clint rolled his eyes and went to get on with his own work-out. Bucky and Steve sparred for another half hour before going back to Steve's room. After they'd gone, Clint let out a breath and wondered how badly it would go down if either of them found out about the thoughts he was having about Bucky wrestling him on that mat, wearing a whole hell of a lot less clothing.

After his work out, he still felt antsy under his skin so he headed out to the range. Spending some time focusing on nothing but his bow and the target always managed to settle him down and clear his head. It was that, or go back to his room and have a really ill-advised wank session.

He was at it for long enough to convince himself that his appreciation of Bucky's body was just a symptom that it had been way too long since he'd last got laid. He'd been holed up at the base with no one but other Avengers, ex-SHIELD agents and support staff around, none of which he could really get away with having a casual hook-up with. Maybe he should head back to New York for a week or two, go out to a few clubs and let off some steam.

“Are you as good with knives?” came a voice from somewhere on high.

Bucky was balanced on a tree branch high off the ground, metal arm holding on to the trunk. That made the second time that Clint had entirely failed to notice a potentially hostile observer while at his range. Was he getting old? Probably a good thing he was going to be retiring soon.

“Almost,” said Clint. “The bow's kinda my thing, though. Do I want to know how long you've been there?"

"Probably not," said Bucky. "But it wasn't as long as it was before, when I first got here."

Clint made a face. "I swear, I'm usually aware of what's going on around me."

Bucky lifted his eyes from him, looking around at the trees surrounding them. "You trust too much in the security here."

Clint made a face. "It is top-of-the-range," he said, trying not sound defensive.

Bucky shook his head. "There are exploitable gaps."

"You mentioned that to Steve?"

Bucky shrugged. He didn't seem inclined to add anything else, so Clint turned back to the target. He tried to fall back into the rhythm he'd had before, but his awareness of his audience prickled at his mind. He found himself starting to show off.

When he next glanced up, Bucky had settled down on the branch with his legs swinging as he watched Clint.

"Want a go?" asked Clint.

Bucky shook his head. "Not allowed weapons."

Right, of course. Except..."You've got that arm. That's pretty much a weapon."

Bucky glanced down at his hand and shrugged. "If you get the right training, almost every part of you can be a weapon."

"That's true," acknowledged Clint. "So probably doesn't matter much if you've got another one." He held up the bow again.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, then jumped down out of the tree, landing with grace that Clint hoped he didn't look impressed by. "Okay, show me how the medieval guys did it."

"Palaeolithic," corrected Clint, handing the bow and an arrow over. "Just - don't pull too hard with the robot hand, yeah? If you hurt my bow, I hurt you."

Bucky nodded as he took it, metal fingers bushing over Clint's. They were warmer than he'd have thought. "Understood."

Bucky clearly hadn't handled a bow before but it didn't take him long to get the hang of it. His aim was good, but not as good as Clint's, which was really all that counted.

It was about an hour later that Steve came jogging across the grass towards them. "Bucky!" he called. "I've been looking for you."

Bucky glanced at him. "I've been here."

Steve looked at Clint. "Sorry, I thought he was in his room."

Clint shrugged. "No problem. We were just messing about."

"I'm not actually a small child," said Bucky, sounding irritated. "I don't need babysitting."

Steve huffed a sigh. "I know that, I just-"

"Besides," interrupted Bucky. "I figured you and Sam would prefer some privacy. You know those walls aren't soundproof, right?"

To Clint's great fascination, Steve blushed faintly pink. "Uh, okay. Right. Well, if you could just let me know next time you go out."

"Sure, mother hen," said Bucky. He handed the bow back to Clint. "Thanks."

"No problem," said Clint. "Anytime I can help out those with lesser skills."

Bucky sent him a glare. "You just try me with a sniper rifle."

"I think maybe we'll leave that for a bit," said Steve.

Bucky met Clint's eye and gave a massive eye roll that made Clint have to turn away to keep in his snigger.

****

Clint woke up with a sucked in breath, his heart thumping in his chest with terror. Jesus Christ, he should be over these kinds of dreams by now.

He spent a few minutes trying to calm himself back down, but it rapidly became clear he wasn't going back to sleep. Every time he shut his eyes, all he could see was the last few terrifying images of the dream.

He gave up and got up, pulling on a hoodie before he headed out to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was still dark, so he couldn't get away with heading out to the range. Not yet.

Instead, he went into the communal lounge next door and slumped on the sofa, flicking on the TV and running through the channels until he found a movie with more explosions than plot. He watched it in an exhausted daze, barely registering the subtitles and hoping that eventually he'd just end up dropping off again.

About half an hour had passed when he registered a movement to his left. His head flicked around to find Bucky hovering awkwardly in the doorway. He looked as drained as Clint felt.

He said something, but Clint hadn't bothered putting the lights on and he couldn't see well enough to read his lips.

"Not got my aids in," he said. "Turn the lights on so I can lip-read."

Bucky flicked the light switch and came in closer, looking directly at Clint as he spoke again. "Sorry, I didn't realise anyone else was awake."

Clint shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

Bucky nodded with a look saying he understood all too well. He glanced at the film, where the hero was ducking away from a shower of bullets, and made a face.

"I hate those films," he said, turning back to Clint before he spoke. "Always so inaccurate."

Clint shrugged. "I find it reassuring that most people don't know what it's really like to be targeted by that many semi-automatics."

Bucky stared at the screen for a while and then gave a half-nod that Clint nearly missed. He came forward and sat down on the end of the sofa with stiff movements, back straight and hands placed carefully on his knees. Clint eyed him for a moment before he turned his attention back to the TV.

By the time the movie ended, Bucky had relaxed enough that looking at his posture didn't make Clint's spine ache in sympathetically. He looked over as the credits rolled.

"Any requests for what to put on next?"

Bucky shrugged and turned towards Clint. "Doesn't matter."

"You're not up for going back to bed either, then," said Clint.

Bucky shook his head. Clint thought he'd leave it at that, but as he turned his head back to the TV he saw Bucky's mouth open again.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," he said, looking back.

Bucky hesitated, then said, "Some of my memories don't really help with sleep. I had a couple come back tonight that I could have done with losing forever."

Clint nodded. "Ah yeah. Think we've all got those."

"I got seventy years of them," said Bucky, then made a face. "Sorry, don't mean to be all- just."

"I get it," said Clint. "Trust me, I get it. Plenty of things I'd like to get wiped out for good."

Bucky nodded. "Steve doesn't really get it," he said. "Every time I remember something he's so damn pleased, but I got so many more years of shit than I do of the good stuff." His chest heaved as he took a deep breath, then he gestured at the TV. "Okay, anything but this."

Clint looked back to see that the movie credits had ended and been replaced with an infomercial for anti-aging cream. He started channel-hopping until he found a Second World War documentary, when he paused and sent a smirk over at Bucky, who rolled his eyes.

"Keep going."

Clint finally settled on another movie, one with less explosions but the same very low level of plot.

More time passed and the atmosphere became more relaxed. Clint found himself dividing his attention between the film and Bucky, despite the fact that he was sitting there in silence and Clint didn't need to read his lips.

On screen, a car turned over, rolling across a road and down a grassy bank. Bucky flinched so violently that Clint turned towards him, tensing up and hoping he wasn't going to have to do anything active right now.

"# what # remembered #," said Bucky, still staring at the screen. Clint did his best to work out what he was saying, but it wasn't easy when he was sideways. Half the words got lost. "# #bered killing # Stark."

There was only one Stark he could be talking about. "Tony's dad?"

Bucky turned towards him. "I made it look like a car accident," he said. "It was easy. Both him and his wife." He paused and then added, with his shoulders hunching over, "When I went to check he was dead, I thought I recognised him but I didn't know from where. So I just walked away. Left him there. A guy I'd known, gone out drinking with."

"You can't blame yourself for stuff you did when someone else was in control," said Clint. "If they were giving orders you couldn't say no to, that's on them." It was something he'd spent years trying to drum into his own brain. These days it felt like he'd mostly succeeded, but there were still moments, late at night, when he found himself running through the faces of the SHIELD agents who'd died the day he'd attacked the helicarrier.

There must have been something in his voice that gave away his personal experience, because Bucky sent him a frown. "You've been brainwashed?"

Clint shrugged. "Not like you were," he said. "Only for three days."

Bucky was silent for a long time, then said, so quietly that Clint almost missed the movement of his lips, "Three days is long enough to do a lot of damage."

"Yeah," said Clint, with feeling.

"Is that why you're not sleeping?" asked Bucky.

Clint hesitated. It would be so easy to just nod and keep the real reason hidden, but there was something about the quiet, late-night atmosphere that made Clint reluctant to lie. Bucky had opened up to him, after all.

"Nah," he said. "It would make more sense if it were, but my nightmares are usually come from years before that. My dad was pretty shitty, used to beat us."

Not being able to hear what he was saying made it easier to say.

"That's rough," said Bucky.

Clint shrugged a shoulder. "He was born without a print. Never really got over it. My mum, her soulmate died only a couple of years after they activated. I think she thought Dad would be her second chance, but..." 

He didn't bother ending the sentence. People born without a print were rare, but not that rare. Most people knew of someone like that, and knew just how bitter and angry they tended to be. Clint guessed that growing up knowing that no one was ever going to love you in the complete, whole-hearted way that soulmates loved each other gave you some weird psychological hang-ups. Even if he never activated, if his soulmate had died years ago and he was going to be alone forever, at least Clint knew that someone had existed who would have loved him.

Bucky nodded. "It's hard, knowing you're never gonna have a soulmate." He twisted his mouth down. "I never activated," he said. "I'm guessing whoever my soulmate was is either dead or in their nineties now. Probably for the best, I'm not exactly in a state that anyone would want to be linked with."

"Me neither," said Clint. He found that he'd pushed his left hand inside his right sleeve and was gently tracing over his print with one finger. "I'm not activated either, but it feels like I got so much going on, I don't know where I'd fit a soulmate in."

"Yeah," agreed Bucky. He clenched his hands together, the metal one wrapping around the flesh one in a way that would have made Clint wary of crushed bones. "Just, doesn't exactly help being around an activated pair."

Clint made a face. "It can get a bit much. Steve and Sam aren't so bad, really, especially not compared to Tony and Pepper."

Bucky flinched, and Clint reflected that maybe mentioning Tony was a bad idea on the night Bucky was freaking out about having murdered his father.

"It's good that Steve got a second chance," Bucky said and turned back to the TV in a way that ended the conversation. Clint gave up and turned back as well. Outside the window, he could see the sun starting to come up and his eyelids felt itchy and heavy. His brain wasn't really up to this kind of conversation right now.

He ended up falling asleep with his hand still curled around his print.

****

Other than the Avengers, there were about 80 support staff at the base, although most of them didn't live there. Nearly half of those were ex-SHIELD agents. Clint and Natasha occasionally ran training sessions for them, mostly because Hill would come around and glare at them if they didn't.

He and Natasha ran a few drills one morning a few days later, and then had lunch together.

"You and Bucky are getting on," she said, before he'd even taken a bite of his sandwich.

Clint glared at her and took a massive bite, making her wait until he had finished chewing and swallowed before replying. "We've hung out, like, twice."

"You let him touch your bow," she pointed out. "It took me over a year before you'd let me touch your bow."

Clint hadn't even thought twice about putting his bow in Bucky's hands. He shrugged. "Maybe I'm maturing. Learning how to share."

She snorted. "No chance. There's something else going on."

"What could be going on?" asked Clint.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You tell me."

"You're letting your natural Russian paranoia get control of you," said Clint. "He's just a guy who lives in the same building. You'd probably have hung out with him a couple of times as well, if you weren't actively avoiding him."

She didn't deny it. "Be careful," she said. "We can't rely on him staying stable."

Clint shrugged. "Can we rely on any of us staying stable?"

"And you accuse me of paranoia," said Natasha.

"Yeah, but my paranoia is healthy American paranoia, not shady ex-communist paranoia," said Clint, grinning at her. "Totally different things."

The look she gave him in response was not amused, but he knew deep down she found him hilarious. Everyone found him hilarious.

Her phone rang before she could continue the interrogation and she looked at it with the shuttered look that meant it was Bruce calling. She picked it up and walked away, leaving Clint with the remains of her lunch as well as his own. Score.

He only had the vaguest idea of what was going on with Natasha and Bruce. They'd activated while Clint had been with Loki and had spent the next few months dancing around each other before disappearing off together for week. When they'd come back, they'd settled into something more comfortable, sharing a bed most nights and sitting next to each other on movie nights. They'd still kept their own rooms, though, and seem to spend more time apart than they did together.

After Sokovia, Bruce had announced he was retiring from the Avengers and going off for a bit. Clint couldn't blame him; he'd been thinking the same thing, after all, and he hadn't accidentally destroyed a city. What he hadn't really understood was that Natasha didn't seem to even consider going with him.

“Why would I?” she'd asked Clint when he mentioned it. “We both have our own lives. We don't need to be together to be soulmates.”

Clint didn't get it at all, but it seemed to work for them. Maybe it made more sense if you had a soulmate and knew what that link was like.

****

Bucky started spending more time in the communal areas, although he kept pretty quiet if there were more than one or two people around. He joined them at dinner every night but hunched over his plate, not meeting anyone's eyes. Clint took to sitting near him and doing his best to pull him into a conversation. Some nights it worked, other nights Bucky clearly wasn't in the mood for it, and slipped off back to his room as early as he could.

Other than Steve, and by extension Sam, the other Avengers were very wary of Bucky and mostly left him for Steve to deal with. Clint figured he was doing all three a favour if he gave Bucky someone else to hang out with so that Steve and Sam could have some alone time. Well, that, and it gave him the chance to appreciate Bucky's physical assets without being the creeper ogling him from the corner.

Bucky was in one of his more open moods one evening, staying at the table after dinner was over to argue with Clint over the relative merits of the SR-25 and the M24 sniper rifle, when the Avengers alarm went off.

Everyone immediately jumped to their feet.

"Gather your equipment, meet in the main hangar bay," said Cap. "I'll get the details."

"I guess I'm just staying here," said Bucky, and there was an awkward pause.

Clint looked at Steve and saw him realise that they couldn't really leave the Winter Soldier unattended in the base, and then glance around at the team.

"I'll stay," he said.

Steve looked at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," said Clint, sitting back down. "I'm not technically on the roster still anyway. Just, don't have too much fun without me, yeah?"

Natasha ruffled his hair as she passed him. "Of course not. We'll have to make up our terrible jokes."

"Words hurt, Tasha," said Clint. "You and I both know my jokes are awesome."

The look she gave him as she went off to get her equipment said otherwise, but Clint ignored it.

Steve said something quietly to Bucky before he left that made him nod and then they were all gone.

"Guess we're clearing the table, then," said Clint, getting up.

Bucky sent him a blank look that was more Winter Soldier than Clint was really comfortable with. Clint started stacking plates but kept a careful eye on him, really hoping he wasn't going to end up in fight with him. Apart from anything else, Clint's bow was in his room, so he'd be trying to fight off a metal-armed super-soldier with crockery. That didn't sound like fun at all.

Bucky sat very still for several minutes, then let out a long breath, clenching both hands into fists. "I wanna be watching Steve's back."

"You can trust the team to do that," said Clint. "Especially Sam. And Natasha."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not the same as doing it myself."

"No," agreed Clint. He looked back down at the plates. "Fuck it, this can wait. Want to watch the mission?"

"We can do that?"

"Sure," said Clint. "Tony set all our systems up and he's got this whole Big Brother thing going on, so everyone's got a camera on them. If we go to the briefing room we can get them all up on the big screen."

Bucky stood up. "Show me."

Clint took him through, got everyone's feeds up on the screen and got the team communications piped in. Bucky sat down at the briefing table and fixed his gaze on the screen.

The team were still on a quinjet sorting out their gear, so there wasn't much to see. Clint tapped into the comms just long enough to let them know that he and Bucky were listening in, which earned him a sigh from Natasha and a pointed comment about finding excuses not to clean up.

"Okay," said Cap as the quinjet started its descent. "We've got thirty confirmed hostiles using advanced weaponry moving through the town centre. Local law enforcement are working on evacuating the surrounding blocks but there's a lot of citizens caught in the area. We need to contain the fight as a priority to allow them escape routes."

"Do we know who the hostiles are?" asked Wanda.

Cap looked frustrated. "Our intelligence isn't great. Reports just mentioned men in black, which could be just about anyone. Hydra, AIM, someone entirely new..."

"Will Smith," put in Clint, which earned him a confused frown from Bucky. He sighed and tipped his chair back. "We're watching that sometime, then."

Bucky didn't reply. In fact, he stayed frustratingly silent for the whole thing, as the Avengers arrived on the scene and engaged, Cap shouting out orders to the grateful-looking police as well as to the team. As he threw his shield at the first enemy, Bucky flinched.

"They're Hydra," he said.

Clint glanced over the different camera views, trying to spot some identifying markings. "How can you tell?"

Bucky didn't bother replying, which was probably fair. If you spent seventy years being brainwashed by an organisation, you probably got pretty good at identifying them.

To say that Bucky was on the edge of his seat while the fight was going on was probably an understatement. He had his hands clenched around the edge of the table and every time someone got close to hurting Steve, he flinched.

"You know Cap can take care of himself, right?" said Clint, and got ignored.

He gave up and started concentrating on the fight instead, making mental notes on what things he should maybe bring up in training. That was what he was meant to still be at the base for, after all, no matter how much his hands itched to be on his bow, fighting alongside them. He was retiring as soon as Rhodey got back, he needed to get over wanting to be in the thick of things.

The Avengers got control of the situation pretty quickly, capturing most of the enemy and handing them over to the police in lieu of a SHIELD holding facility. Clint wondered how it would go down if he hunted Fury down so that he could nag him to get on with setting up a replacement agency already. Not well, probably.

As the last bad guy was taken down by one of Wanda's bursts of red fire, Bucky let out a quiet breath and unclenched his hands. There was a dent in the table from his metal hand that hadn't been there before, which was going to make Tony mutter under his breath about the costs of replacing furniture every time someone got a bit excited with their super-strength. Without the Hulk or Thor around, their record had got much better on that front, so Clint figured he could just suck it up.

"They'll have to hang around there for ages, doing the clear up," said Clint. "It'll be dull as hell."

Bucky turned to look at him, then back at the screen. "Right," he said. "Okay."

"Sucks just watching, right?" said Clint.

Bucky didn't reply. Clint was getting pretty bored of being ignored, so he got up. "Okay, I'm going to get the dinner cleared before Natasha comes back and makes sarcastic remarks. Feel free to come join me whenever you're done watching Steve make nice to the police."

He'd pretty much finished by the time Bucky turned up in the kitchen doorway. Clint glanced at him and wondered what the hell you were meant to do with a pent-up Winter Soldier to keep them from snapping and trying to kill you with their robot arm. Probably not yoga.

"You want to do something while we wait for the others?"

Bucky glared at him. "Not a movie."

Okay, fair enough. Clint usually went to the range when he was stressed out, but he didn't think putting a weapon in Bucky's hands was a good idea right now.

"I've been meaning to ask you if you'd mind having a look at our security and helping me plug the holes you were talking about the other day," he said, thinking that it might be good for Bucky to feel useful after a few weeks of not having any real purpose.

Bucky stared at him then nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

It turned out to be a great plan. Bucky got so distracted by arguing over CCTV placement and the virtues of an electric fence that when the others finally arrived back, he only spared Steve a glance and a nod of greeting before getting back into it.

"Are we sure that it's a good idea to let him know our security systems?" asked Wanda.

"Are you kidding?" said Clint, looking up from the rough diagram he and Bucky were working from. "He's the one that drew this. He didn't miss a single feature."

Steve came to squint at the paper. He ran a finger over some of the scrawled notes for new features. "This is good," he said. "We'll have to get Tony to sort it out."

"He'll enjoy that," said Natasha, leaning over the diagram herself. She frowned. "What's this bit?"

Bucky followed her finger. "It's a network of laser traps strung out between the trees to cover the vulnerable south east corner."

She made an interested humming sound and pulled up a chair to sit in. “This does look more secure, but have you thought about moving this camera here, to give a wider vantage?”

“A wider vantage means losing some of the detail,” objected Sam.

“You can have both if you put in a second camera here,” said Bucky, putting his finger down on the diagram, and that was how they ended up spending the next three hours arguing about security measures. Clint's favourite bit was when Bucky and Natasha started comparing the most difficult bases they'd ever infiltrated, trying to one-up each other until it turned out that they'd both infiltrated the same top secret US Army base at some point in the 90s, and Sam got all indignant.

****

Clint's rooms were tucked towards the back of the Avenger's living quarters, which made getting to coffee first thing in the morning an annoyingly long journey. He had to get out of his bedroom, through his lounge, then down two different hallways and past the communal sitting area before he got to caffeine, which was just inhumane.

It seemed even more inhumane when he turned a corner and found the Winter Soldier lurking against a wall, spine ramrod straight and his metal hand braced in front of him as if he was expecting a fight.

"Jesus Christ," said Clint, pressing a hand to his chest. "Are you trying to win creepiest housemate? Cuz frankly, I know Wanda can be a bit strange, but you were already pretty much in the lead on that one already."

Bucky didn't reply. He just stared at Clint blankly, barely even blinking.

"Uh, you okay?" asked Clint. "Bucky?"

There was the tiniest flinch of the muscles around Bucky's eyes, but no other sign of life.

"Hey, Bucky, come on, snap out of it," said Clint, wondering if he should be calling Steve.

There was another flinch at his name, and then Bucky snapped out a phrase in Russian.

Ah, crap. Clint took a careful step backwards and held his hands up, hoping to look as harmless as possible. "Hey, Bucky, snap out of it. Do you want me to get Steve?"

'Steve' got the biggest reaction yet, Bucky blinking his eyes several times and a tiny frown forming.

"Steve Rogers," repeated Clint. "Your best friend. And you're Bucky Barnes. Remember?"

Bucky's metal arm relaxed. "Steve," he said, very quietly to himself.

"Right," said Clint, as encouragingly as he could. "You're not with Hydra, you're with us. With Steve."

Bucky let out a long breath, his metal arm relaxing back to his side. "Hawkeye," he said, with a nod.

"Clint is fine," said Clint.

Bucky's posture slumped and Clint saw his personality come back to his eyes. "Ah, Christ," he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face.

"You okay, man?" asked Clint.

Bucky nodded stiffly, rolling his shoulders. Clint wondered how long he had been standing there like a statue, waiting for Hydra to give him orders.

"I was gonna get coffee. Want some?"

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, looking as if the decision was too much for him right now.

"Come to the kitchen with me," said Clint. "Steve'll turn up there sooner or later."

Bucky nodded and mutely followed Clint, which made the space between Clint's shoulder blades itch uncomfortably. Having a mentally-unstable assassin behind you wasn't the most comfortable feeling.

There was no one else in the kitchen yet, which meant no one had set the coffee machine running. Clint put on a pot, then turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway, frozen still and staring into space.

"Take a seat," he said, trying to make it as much an invitation as an order.

Bucky moved forward and sat down with jerky motions, clasping his hands in front of him on the table in an oddly formal manner.

"Did something happen?" asked Clint.

It took Bucky a while to answer. "My sleep was not optimal."

"Nightmares," said Clint. "Yeah, they suck."

The coffee was ready so he poured it out, resisting the temptation to just down it from the pot. He put Bucky's mug in front of him then settled down opposite him.

Bucky clasped the mug in both hands, then winced and moved his flesh one away. Clint focused on his own mug, sucking down the sweet, sweet nectar as fast as he could without burning his throat.

He'd pretty much finished it before Bucky spoke. "I'm sorry."

Clint glanced up. "For what?"

Bucky gave him an exasperated look and Clint felt himself relax at the clear sign he was back to himself. "For scaring you."

"I wasn't scared," lied Clint.

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe a little freaked, but I hadn't had any coffee," said Clint, raising his mug. There was barely a mouthful left, so he downed it. "Are you feeling more yourself now?"

Bucky stared down into his coffee. "I'm not always sure who that is."

Okay, Clint was definitely going to need more coffee for this. He got up and put another pot on.

"Before I came here, I spent six months trying to work it out," said Bucky. "Trying to get my head into a state where I felt like a whole person and not just - not just splinters. And yet here I am, still flaking apart."

Clint leant back against the counter. "How long were you in the hall?"

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. "I'm not sure. I couldn't sleep, and I could hear that Steve and Sam didn't really want to be interrupted, so I figured I'd come find you, see if you were up and wanted to watch something, but- I don't know. I didn't make it, I guess."

If Sam and Steve had still been awake and getting up to whatever, Bucky must have been there most of the night. No wonder he looked like shit.

"I'm guessing Sam and Steve wouldn't have minded you interrupting them if they'd known you were having a bad night," he said.

Bucky made a face. "I'm causing Steve enough hassle without interrupting him and his soulmate."

"You're not causing anywhere near as much hassle as I used to cause you," said Steve, coming into the kitchen and making Bucky stiffen. "And you can interrupt me and Sam any time you need to. We've got the rest of our lives together, after all."

He darted an enquiring look at Clint that Clint just returned with a raised eyebrow and a nod at Bucky.

"Did something happen?"

Bucky let out a breath. "Not really," he said. "Just a bad night."

Clint snorted, then pasted on a bland smile when they both turned to him. "Coffee?"

"Sure," said Steve, sitting down. "What kind of a bad night?"

Bucky shrugged, gripping at his mug. Steve stayed patiently waiting, until Bucky let out a long breath. "I lost myself," he said, in a very quiet voice.

Steve clenched his jaw and took the coffee Clint passed to him. "You came back, though," he said. "Did you- did anybody get hurt?"

Bucky shook his head. "I think I was just waiting for orders, then Clint found me."

Steve sent Clint a look packed with so much gratitude that Clint wanted to go hide somewhere to avoid it. He really hadn't done anything.

"There you go, then," said Steve. "You didn't lose yourself completely."

"You didn't come close to attacking me," added Clint. "I just had to say your name a few times to pull you out of it."

Bucky pressed his mouth into a flat line, staring down at his coffee. "I think it was seeing the fight yesterday," he said. "Those guys were Hydra. I'm going to be pretty useless if I blank out every time I see a Hydra agent."

"We'll work on it," said Steve. "It's still early days, you'll get better."

"Yeah," said Bucky, but he didn't sound as if he believed it.

Clint took a sip of coffee, wondering how things managed to just keep getting more complicated around here. He'd thought it was bad enough when they just had to worry about Tony and Bruce playing mad scientist in the basement.

His farm was going to feel so simple and relaxing after this.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Steve caught Clint on his way to his range. "I've asked Tony to come up for a day to look over the new security proposals."

"I bet he took that well," said Clint.

"He likes coming up here," said Steve, sidestepping Clint's real point, which was that Tony didn't take kindly to people pointing out holes in his work. Not that there usually were any, but apparently physical security was one of his rare weaknesses. "And it's been a while since he was last up."

"True," said Clint. "Is he bringing huge amounts of booze again? That was awesome."

Steve winced. "I really hope not. If we'd had a call-out the day after, only Vision and I would have been okay to go."

Clint grinned at the memory. "I think it took a week for my headache to go."

"That's not why I wanted to talk to you," said Steve. "Although if you could try to remember that this is a superhero HQ, not a frathouse, that would be great."

"I don't see why it can't be both," said Clint. It was times like this that he missed Thor. The guy had been like a one-man frat party.

"It's going to be the first time Tony and Bucky meet," said Steve. "I just wanted you to ask if you could stick with Tony, keep him from-" He made a face. "From doing anything too Tony, I suppose. I'll stick with Bucky, try and keep him calm."

Clint nodded. "So we can try and keep things sane from both sides. Are you worried, then?"

"You know about Howard," said Steve, and Clint nodded. "Right, well. So does Tony. There's a lot of things that could get messy if we don't keep an eye on them. Tony isn't always the most tactful."

"Yeah, I hear that," said Clint. "Okay, I'll try and keep him from causing an incident, but I can't make any promises. I mean...he's Tony Stark."

"Just do your best."

"Sure thing, Cap," said Clint. "And if it means me having to bundle Tony off on a drinking binge to keep him out of the way, you know I'll do it. I'll take one for the team."

"Good man," said Steve dryly. "Have you had a chance to look at the intel from the other day?"

"Yeah," said Clint. "It all seemed a bit vague, though. No real info on why Hydra decided to attack a random small town."

"Yeah," said Steve. "I can't help thinking that there's something more going on that the guys we captured didn't know about."

"What we really need is a super-secret spy network, perhaps run by some kind of shady government agency," said Clint. "If only we knew someone who had the experience to run one of those..."

"He's having to jump through governmental hoops," said Steve. "Shady government agencies require a lot of funding, you know. It's taking him a while to secure that."

Clint made a face. "Fine, but until then we're basically flying blind."

"Yeah," agreed Steve. "I'm sure Hydra will show their hand, though. They're not very good at subtle."

That was true. Clint just hoped that whatever came next didn't include a body count.

****

Tony arrived on a helicopter, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Hey, hey, if it isn't my favourite wannabe Robin Hood?" he said, slapping Clint on the back. "How's tricks? Bought yourself any green tights yet?"

Clint had been enduring Robin Hood jokes for nearly twenty years, so he didn't even bother responding. "Hey, Tony. How's retirement going?"

"Awesome," said Tony. "I haven't had a near-death experience in months. Well, weeks, if you count the thing in Barbados, which Pepper probably would, but she worries too much."

"I think she probably worries just enough," said Clint.

Tony waved that away. "Nah, she's a worrywart." He glanced around. "You my only welcome committee?"

"The others are inside," said Clint.

Tony nodded. "With our new best friend, yeah?"

"Bucky's with them," agreed Clint, as neutrally as he could.

Tony gave him a perceptive look over his sunglasses. "First name terms with the Winter Soldier? You think he's on the level, then? Not about to snap and take everyone out, or let all his Hydra playmates in?"

Clint opened the door into the building for him. "He's not shown any signs of either so far." He shrugged. "He seems like he's working through all the stuff they did to him, just, it's not easy."

"Yeah, okay, well, I guess we can't really argue with Steve on it anyway," said Tony. "His team and all that."

"I think if the team had all protested he'd have-" He paused, thinking about the way Steve had looked at Bucky when he first turned up. "Actually, I don't know. He might have taken a leave of absence to help Bucky out."

Tony made a face. "Probably better to have him here where you're all keeping an eye on him than let Cap go off on his own with him."

"He doesn't need much supervising," said Clint. "He mostly just works on sorting his head out."

"Something we should probably all be doing," said Tony. "Nothing sane about the shit we get up to, right?"

"That you used to get up to," corrected Clint. "You're out of the game remember?"

"Right, and you were meant to be as well," said Tony. "How's that going?"

"Just waiting for Rhodey to get back," said Clint. "Can't leave them a man down."

"Right," said Tony. "And what'll be the excuse after that?"

Clint glared at him but didn't bother replying as he pushed open the door to the lounge. Most of the team were waiting for them.

Tony stepped in as if walking out on to a stage. "Hey guys, how're you all doing?"

"Hello, Tony," said Steve, stepping forward to shake his hand. "Good to see you."

"Yep," agreed Tony. "It's always great to see me." He eyed Bucky, who was hovering in the background, leaning against a wall and giving Tony an emotionless look that Clint had a feeling was hiding his nervousness.

"And here's everyone's favourite Russian assassin," Tony said, then glanced at Natasha. "Sorry, Nat, second favourite."

"You know he's not actually Russian, right?" she said.

"And that's why you win," said Tony. "Plus, you know, that thing you do where you strangle men with your thighs."

Bucky cleared his throat. "I can actually do that too."

Oh man, there was a mental image Clint didn't need. He was definitely going to be thinking about what it might be like to have Bucky's thighs wrapped around him later, once he was alone.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "So much for 1940s morality." He gave Bucky a look over and Clint braced himself. If Tony was going to be wildly inappropriate, now was going to be the time. 

"So, you're the infamous Winter Soldier, fist of Hydra. Part of me really wants to go all Inigo Montoya on your ass cuz, come on, what other chance am I ever going to get to live that dream?"

And there it was. Clint winced. "Yeah, no," he said. "Definitely not a good idea."

Tony glanced at him and shrugged. "Yeah, he'd just crush me like a grape," he said. "Or, I guess, like he did my par-"

Clint kicked him in the shin and he cut himself off, glaring at Clint. "Okay, Jesus, fine. I'll play nice. Don't wanna be choked by his thighs." He gave Bucky a considering look. "Or maybe I do. I bet Pepper could be persuaded."

Bucky looked frozen, metal hand clenched into a fist. Tony was eyeing him a bit like a cat might a mouse and Clint wondered how the hell he was going to stop a fight. So much for Steve's confidence in him as a babysitter.

"What does 'Inigo Montoya' mean?" asked Steve, in his very best 'clueless nonagenarian' voice.

There was a brief pause, then Tony turned away from Bucky to stare at Steve. "Ah, come on, Cap, I thought you were meant to be catching up with this century?" He turned to Clint, "And you, what the hell have you been at, not showing him _The Princess Bride_ yet?"

"There are a lot of must-watch movies," said Clint. "We're doing our best."

"We just finished the last _Back To The Future_ ," put in Sam.

"Oh, those are classics," said Tony. "Yeah, okay, forgiven. For now." He rubbed his hands together. "Right, show me your plans so I can ridicule them."

"In the briefing room," said Clint. "Come on."

Tony took one look at the paper diagram they'd all been arguing over, and made a pained noise. "Paper? Christ, are we living in the dark ages?" He pulled out his phone and scanned it, then cast it onto the screen on the wall. "Right, let's pick this thing apart."

He settled in to examine it and Steve joined him, leaning over to point out various features. Clint glanced at the door to see Bucky hovering outside, clearly not sure if he should be inside or not. Clint looked back at Tony and Steve and decided that they were probably safe enough distracting each other.

He nodded his head towards the kitchen. "I'm gonna get everyone coffee."

"You're a fucking lifesaver, Barton," said Tony without looking up.

Bucky glanced at Steve, then back at Clint. "I'll help."

By which, he meant he'd stand in the kitchen radiating anxiety while Clint made the coffee. Wanda was already in there, making herself tea. She glanced at them both but said nothing.

"Chill," said Clint. "Tony comes across as pretty abrasive, but he just takes some time to warm up to people."

"I killed his parents," said Bucky, through gritted teeth. "How's he going to warm up to that?"

"Hydra killed his parents," corrected Clint, but just got a sharp shake of Bucky's head.

"Same difference," he muttered.

Clint took a deep breath. "Look, we all got things in our pasts we'd like to wipe out. Tony's no different. He knows what it's like to try and rewrite who you are."

"He killed our parents," put in Wanda. "We forgave him."

"You tried to kill him," pointed out Clint. "And all he did was build the weapon."

She shrugged. "All Bucky did was be the weapon."

Bucky scowled. "I'm so sick of this," he growled, and smacked his metal hand into the wall. There was a crunch as the brickwork shattered.

"Aw, come on," said Clint. "At this rate you're going to end up causing more damage than Bruce used to."

Bucky sent him a dark glare that Clint just rolled his eyes at. "Just, think happy thoughts."

"Or don't," said Wanda, picking up her tea and heading for the door. "You should feel free to think whatever thoughts you wish, without anyone telling you otherwise."

Ouch. "Yeah, okay, point," said Clint, back-pedalling from being the guy telling the guy recovering from being brainwashed how to think. "Don't listen to me, do what you want."

Bucky let out a long breath, relaxing his shoulders. "Even if it ends with me trashing the kitchen?"

Clint shrugged. "As long as you don't hurt the coffee machine, you're good. If you put even so much as one scratch on my baby, though, I'll put you in a world of pain."

Bucky shook his head. "I've seen how all of you lot are about that thing. I wouldn't risk that."

"Damn straight," said Clint, giving the coffee machine a stroke before he picked up the mugs. "Come on, carry some of these for me."

Bucky picked up the remaining mugs and followed him out, looking more relaxed than he had done. When they got to the briefing room, Tony was so far into mad-scientist-planning-mode that he barely even acknowledged the existence of coffee, let alone the person handing it to him.

Content that there wouldn't be any more fireworks, Clint stood back and watched, wishing there was something in the room he could climb on top of to get a proper vantage point.

It took a few hours before Tony was content with the plans. "Okay, you'll have contractors crawling all over by tomorrow," he said. "Try not to freak them out too much, yeah?" He looked at Natasha as he said it, raising an eyebrow. She just gave him a quiet smile that didn't promise anything.

"Are you staying for dinner?" asked Sam.

"Oh yeah," said Tony. "Dinner and drinks. I bought some super-fancy vodka for our Russian comrades, and dirt cheap whiskey for you and Clint. And a chocolate milkshake for Cap."

"Whoop-de-doo," said Steve, dryly.

Bucky snorted, then froze when everyone turned to stare at him. He let out a long breath and gave a casual shrug that didn't hide how much he didn't want to be the centre of attention. "Just, I can remember a kid who said he was gonna live off chocolate milkshakes when he was grown up."

Steve looked torn between being pleased that Bucky had remembered that and being pissed that he'd mentioned it. "All kids say stuff like that."

"I said I was going to eat nothing but cookies," said Sam, taking Steve's opposite hand with his own. Clint knew that he was resting his forefinger on Steve's print, letting his love flow into him.

“Pizza,” Clint said, looking away. “And you know what? I came pretty damn close to eating nothing else during my twenties. Live your dreams, people.”

“That settles it,” said Tony. “We're ordering pizza. All the pizza.”

****

They ordered pizza, then had a row about whether or not getting it delivered would be a terrible idea given the top secret base thing. In the end, Steve was talked in to going to get it.

“After all,” said Tony, cracking open the vodka, “you've got a bike. You're basically a pizza delivery guy already.”

A few hours later, Clint was slumped against one corner of the sofa, feeling boneless and a little spinny. Natasha and Wanda were playing a fiercely contested game of _Call of Duty_ that Clint was technically watching, but the sudden movements had started to make him feel a bit dizzy.

Tony had announced that as his favourite Air Force drinking buddy was absent, he was going to use Sam as a replacement, which meant Sam was now completely trashed, leaning on Steve and slurring his words. Steve had one arm wrapped tightly around him, keeping him up, and was giving him a fond smile.

Tony was still at the garrulous, showmanship stage of drunk, arms sweeping wide as he described- actually, Clint had no idea what he was describing. From the gestures, it was either an epic battle with multiple assailants, or some kind of orgy. Given that it was Tony, it might be both at once. Vision was watching both him and the computer game with a look Clint had just about worked out meant he found them both incomprehensible and was seeking to understand.

Bucky was beside Clint on the sofa, the same beer he'd been nursing all night clutched in one hand. He was watching Natasha and Wanda's game with an intense look that made Clint want to run his hand over his forehead to smooth away the lines.

Nope, no, couldn't do that. No touching the Winter Soldier, no matter how pretty he was.

Bucky turned to him with a frown. "Why haven't we ever played this game?"

Clint blinked at him, then looked back at the screen. Natasha had done something that caused a massive explosion. "Cuz you're all- old and geriatric?" he said. "I mean, Steve never wants to play."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I'm not Steve. I think it looks fun."

Wanda let out a growl. "I will annihilate you," she threatened Natasha.

"Bring it on, bitch," said Natasha.

"Yeah," said Clint. "It is. Okay, okay, we can play. Some time. Not now, I'm not-" He waved one hand rather vaguely in the air.

"You mean, you're drunk," said Bucky, looking amused.

"Not _drunk_ , nope," said Clint, forcing the p out into a popping sound. "Just, you know. Not at my best coordination levels." He waved a hand around only to find it was the one with his drink in it. Liquid splashed on his shirt and he frowned down at it. "Aw, whisky, no."

"Oh yeah, you're totally sober," said Bucky.

"Shut up," said Clint, patting at the spill as if that would make it go away. "Just cuz you're all super-soldier smug and can't get drunk."

"I can get drunk," said Bucky. "Takes a lot of dedication, but I can get there."

Clint gave up and went back to drinking whisky rather than patting it. "Hydra let you get hammered?" he asked. "Guess they're more of a party crew than I figured."

Bucky shook his head. "No, this was a month or two ago. I holed up in a motel and drank until I passed out. It took four bottles of vodka, but I managed it."

"Good going," said Clint, holding up his glass to Bucky to be clinked. Bucky touched his beer bottle to it. "I mean, I guess I should be disapproving about your coping strategies, but fuck it. I'm really not the guy to talk."

Bucky shrugged. "It didn't seem to help much. I dunno what I was hoping for - some kinda brain recalibration, maybe. I came here to find Steve after."

"Steve," said Clint, looking over at him. He'd sat down with Sam now, heads leaned together and their hands clasped so their prints rested together. "Stevie-Steve. He's great. Best team leader I've had. Not that I've had a lot, I'm more of a lone wolf, you know. Just me, my bow, the wind blowing through the- whatsit. You know."

"Right," said Bucky, slowly, trying to hide his grin by taking a drink. "Of course."

Clint shook his head. "No, no, you're just judging me on, on my Avengery stint, I used to be solo before. Freelance."

"I know," said Bucky. "I was given files on you all, you know."

Clint stared at him. "Files? Hydra had files on me? No, wait, scratch that, course they did. Those guys love their paperwork. Was it all about how totally badass and awesome I am?"

"Oh yes," said Bucky. "Definitely. In fact, it was just one sheet of paper that said _Totally badass and awesome, like a lone wolf with wind blowing through the whatsit._ "

Clint attempted to glare at him, but it was hard when faced with the amused half-smile on Bucky's face. He really, really wanted to kiss it off his face. He took a deep breath, looking away. It was a lot easier to ignore his attraction to Bucky when he was sober.

Steve and Sam went to bed, Steve trying to make it look like he wasn't carrying Sam. Tony was now watching Natasha and Wanda's game, providing a commentary that Clint thought might well lead to him getting a controller in the face. He drained the rest of his glass and set it down.

"I should go to bed," he said, not moving.

"I think I'm gonna wait until those two have crashed out," said Bucky.

Clint tipped his head to one side. "We could ask Tony to put in soundproofing."

Bucky snorted, then shook his head. "Nah. Don't like being totally shut off. Need to hear what's going on around me."

"Yeah, I get that," said Clint. "Or, you know, I would if I wasn't deaf."

Bucky winced. "Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Nah," said Clint, waving it away."S'cool, just means I can make arm jokes with imponal- impunib-" He gave up on getting his tongue to cooperate. "-without you getting mad." He considered. "I'm gonna be leaving once Rhodey gets back. You can have my rooms then. I mean, you could take over one of the guest rooms, but I got a, you know, suite. That's proper Avengers shit, right there. Only proper team people get to have two whole rooms to fill up with their weaponry."

Bucky stared at him. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah," said Clint, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling. "Gonna retire."

"Retire?" asked Bucky. "I thought you were badass and awesome."

"Yeah, course I am," said Clint. "Just, you know. I'm just a normal guy, and I'm not getting any younger. You leave retiring till after you've lost your edge, and you miss your chance cuz you're dead."

Bucky was silent so long that Clint rolled his head to look at him. He was still staring at Clint with a frown, beer bottle resting on his thigh. Man, that was an excellent thigh, those muscles were just perfect.

"What you gonna do instead?"

Clint wrenched his eyes away from Bucky's thigh. "Uh, farm," he said. "I've got a farm. Well, I've got what used to be a farm thirty years ago. No one's lived there since my parents died, gonna fix it all up, make it nice. Get, I don't know, a dog or some shit."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "Gonna get a rural idyll?"

"Yeah, why the fuck not?” asked Clint. "Got some money put away. Might be nice to just- I don't know. Be on my own for a bit, away from all, you know, the bullshit that goes on."

"Be a lone wolf," put in Bucky.

"Yeah," said Clint, dragging the word out. "Gonna be just me, myself and I."

It was going to be so nice not to have alarms going off at all hours of the day and night, dragging him out to fight increasingly unhinged bad guys, not to mention constantly feeling battered and bruised even when he wasn't recovering from an actual injury. Starting work on a project like fixing the porch up and just working until it was done, without evil neo-Nazis or aliens or crazy super-powered villains interrupting, or finding out that the porch had been secretly evil all along and he'd been helping the bad guys by fixing it.

Bucky was silent for a long moment. "If you're going, can I have your range as well?"

Clint made a face at the idea of anyone else having his range, but it wasn't as if he'd be using it. "Only," he said, holding up a finger to point at Bucky, "only if you admit I'm the best shot. In everything, guns and bows and all of it." He started to tip forward and had to prop himself back up.

"Sure," said Bucky easily, then flashed a wicked grin. "If you can prove it." Fuck, that was hot.

Nope, no finding the Winter Soldier hot. Clint's brain needed to stop already.

"Any time, hotshot," he said. Sitting up was getting to be too much hassle, so he let himself slide sideways until he was lying down on the sofa, looking at Bucky. Sadly, the sofa was too long for him to have ended up in Bucky's lap, but he was a whole lot closer than he had been. Clint could see the strip of skin where his shirt and pants didn't quite meet in perfect detail.

“Izzat your print?” he asked, turning his head to see better. “You got it on your side?”

It was a soft brown colour, only just standing out against Bucky's skin.

Bucky flinched. “Yeah,” he said, and wow, clearly this was something Clint should not have mentioned, damn his drunken mouth.

“S'cool,” he said. “People with prints on their hands are just dull and, I dunno, unimaginative.” He held his arm up and pulled his sleeve up to show his off. “Way more interesting to not just be shaking hands, like every other fucker on the planet.”

Bucky stared at his arm but didn't say anything. Clint began to feel self-conscious, so he pushed his sleeve back down. 

Bucky's print was still just right there. His fingers itched to touch it.

Which, whoa, not okay. Do not touch the Winter Soldier's print, Barton. Completely inappropriate.

“I'm drunk,” he realised. “Time for bed.” He rolled off the sofa, away from the temptation of Bucky, and made it to his feet.

“You gonna be okay getting there?” asked Bucky.

“Yup,” said Clint which, of course, was when he tripped over his own feet and nearly fell on the poor guy. He put his hand out and caught himself on Bucky's shoulder just in time. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry, just gonna....”

He straightened, leaving behind the rough feel of the hoodie Bucky was wearing and the smooth curve of the muscle it concealed. Oh yeah, he definitely needed to get to bed.

“Okay,” said Bucky, setting his beer down. “You need someone to make sure you don't end up crashed out in the hall somewhere.”

“That's only happened, like, eight times,” said Clint. “Maybe twelve.”

Bucky stood up. “Come on, I should be going to bed anyway. Sam must have passed out by now, even if Steve's still annoyingly sober.”

“That is annoying, isn't it?” said Clint, concentrating on getting his feet heading out of the room and sending a vague wave in the direction of the others. “Like, way to rub being the peak of physical perfection in our faces.”

“I'd say he's not doing it on purpose, but he can be a perverse little punk when he wants to be,” said Bucky. “Always was.”

Clint snorted, swayed too far in one direction and had to stick out a hand to stop himself toppling, grabbing at the wall.

Bucky paused and eyed him. “Would this be easier if I carried you?”

“Fuck, no,” said Clint. “Gonna get to bed on my own two feet. I'm fine.”

“Sure you are,” said Bucky, disbelievingly. As they carried on, Clint couldn't help noticing that he was hovering pretty close, as if ready to catch Clint should he need it. It made him feel all warm and affectionate towards Bucky, which was the last thing he needed right now. Ogling the guy's incredible physique was one thing, inappropriate feelings were quite another.

“You sound like you're remembering a lot more about before,” he said, trying to stick to a safe subject.

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “Being around Steve helps. I guess I'm starting to know who I am now. At least, I am most of the time.”

“That's good,” said Clint, pausing as they reached his door. “I know we were all pretty wary when you first showed up, but it's awesome that you're sorting yourself out. We're all rooting for you.”

Bucky shrugged. “I'd have been wary too,” he said. “And I kinda hope you still are. I can't-” He paused, biting down at his lip. “I can't rely on staying like this,” he finished in a lower voice.

Clint reached out and patted his metal arm. “If you don't, we'll get you back again,” he said. Standing outside his door like this was beginning to feel seriously weird, like he was waiting for a goodnight kiss after a date. Fuck, he needed to get some barriers up between them. “I mean, Steve will never give up. You know what he's like.”

A soft, quiet smile came over Bucky's face. “Yeah. He's got my back.”

“We all do,” said Clint, and wow, he really needed to get to bed before he started making stupid promises. Christ, he was _retiring_. He wasn't going to have anyone's back. He groped behind himself for the door handle and gave Bucky a nod. “Night then.”

“Good night,” said Bucky.

Clint went inside, very aware that Bucky waited until the door was shut before he moved away. Oh man, he needed to watch himself better. Or not, you know, get really drunk around the guy he had a crush on.

****

Clint spent most of the next day in his rooms, recovering. Hangovers lasted so much longer now, which was stark proof that he was getting older. He remembered talking to Bucky about retirement yesterday and figured the way his head was throbbing was a pretty good sign that it was definitely time for that.

When he dragged himself out of his rooms for dinner, Tony had already left.

"He said to tell you that you're a disastrous lightweight and he's ashamed to know you," said Natasha.

Clint rolled his eyes. "I was better than Sam."

"Barely," said Natasha. "He also said that Rhodey should be back in two weeks."

Clint frowned. "I thought he was on a top secret Air Force mission that only the Pentagon knew abou- Oh. Tony hacked them, right?"

Natasha shrugged. "I think it's pretty naive to think Tony isn't jacked into pretty much every computer system."

"Yeah, okay," said Clint. "Good point." Two weeks. He shrugged. "Guess I'll be retired by next month, then."

She gave him a long look. "You're still planning to go ahead with that?"

"Yeah," said Clint. "Of course. Going to sort out the farm."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips together in obvious disapproval, but she didn't say anything so Clint ignored her.

Bucky didn't come to dinner and Steve had a pinched look around his eyes that made Clint think it had been a stressful day. Sam just looked half-dead, which made Clint feel better about how crap his morning had been. 

The Avengers alarm went off before they'd managed more than a few bites.

“Oh, of course,” said Natasha. “How do they always know when we're eating?”

There were thumping feet in the corridor outside and Bucky burst in, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that was just tight enough to make Clint lose a few seconds in contemplation. “The alarm,” he spat out.

“It's fine, Bucky,” said Steve. “It's just a call-out.”

Bucky stared for a moment, then ducked his head in a nod. His hair was everywhere, falling over his face, and it didn't look like he'd shaved today. Yeah, it was definitely a bad day. Clint wondered if that was related to Tony's presence yesterday, or just a random occurrence.

“Please, Steve, if you love me at all,” said Sam as the others started to get up to go find their gear. “Please let me stay back. My head is killing me, man.”

Steve nodded. “We need someone to stay with Bucky anyway,” he reminded him, and Sam let out a groan of pure gratitude. Okay, wow, Clint was suddenly feeling a _lot_ better about his hangover, which had pretty much faded now, especially with the anticipation of some action kicking in.

****

It was Hydra again, attacking another meaningless small town. The Avengers caught up with them at a motel that was built around three sides of a parking lot. They seemed to be going from room to room, shouting about Hydra's superiority and dragging everyone they found out into the parking lot to kneel with their hands on their heads.

The police had set up a perimeter, where the Avengers paused for a moment.

"Okay," said Cap. "First thing we need to do is ensure the safety of the civilians. Wanda, Widow, you'll be with me on that. Vision, get Hawkeye up somewhere he can cover the parking lot from then I need you to keep eyes on the whole scene and maintain a perimeter."

Clint nodded at Vision, then pointed to the top of a four storey building that stood next to the motel. "Up there, please."

There was a fire escape on the side looking over the parking lot, perfectly placed for Clint to fire from, taking out the Hydra agents surrounding the civilians. There were about ten of them and he was able to take out half before Cap, Natasha and Wanda arrived on the scene. Natasha started to get the hostages out of the area, directing them towards the police barricade further down the street as Cap and Wanda covered their escape.

Hydra agents began boiling out of the motel as the fight got under way. There were quite a few Hydra coming out of one particular exit, so Clint sent an explosive-tipped arrow at them, making sure to land it just far enough from the entrance to avoid hurting any civilians who might still be inside.

"This is like fish in a barrel," he said over the comms.

"Are you trying to jinx us?" returned Natasha. 

"Captain Rogers, I'm engaging with a group who are trying to leave out the back way,” said Vision.

"Let us know if you need a hand," said Cap, then jumped on a car, sent his shield flying at a Hydra agent, somersaulted off and landed on another, then caught the shield again. Not for the first time, Clint wondered if Steve had had a lot of frustrated gymnastics dreams as a kid. Did they even even have gymnastics back then?

"Parking lot is clear of civilians," reported Natasha. "I'm going to head into the building and make sure there are none left inside."

"Understood," said Cap. "Wanda, you go in the other entrance and do the same. I'll keep a lid on things out here."

Someone had located Clint's position and was laying down fire at him. He ducked down, behind the railing. Bullets pinged against metal, sending off sparks.

Right, next task: locate the sniper. There, on the motel roof, half-hidden behind an air-con vent. Clint marked the location, notched an arrow and waited for a pause in the rattle of bullets. The moment it came, he stood and fired, crouching back down immediately.

No further shots were forthcoming and he glanced through the railings to see the sniper sprawled backwards with an arrow in his chest. Oh yeah, he was the best.

Vision had neutralised all the agents trying to leave out the back, so he came back over to help Steve, not that he really needed it. Hydra agents just kept coming out of the motel, throwing themselves into the fight and getting smacked down. More worrying were the ones coming out onto the roof, taking position to fire down onto the parking lot. If enough gunmen surrounded Steve from up there, it was going to turn the parking lot into a killbox.

Good thing Cap had a legendary sniper of awesome watching his back, right?

Clint fired a grappling arrow at the wall behind him, checking it was firmly buried in the brickwork before he slid down it onto the motel roof, shooting the Hydra agents down there as he went. Man, he hoped someone was filming this, he must look damn cool.

He landed on the roof with a roll, then shot the two remaining Hydra agents on the roof with one shoot, two arrows leaving his bow at the same time. He jogged over to the low wall that ran around the edge of the roof and ducked down. A quick glance over showed that Cap and Vision had things well under control. He sent an arrow into the one Cap was just about to smack with his shield and got a barely repressed noise of irritation over the comms in response.

"Sorry, Cap, too slow," he said, sending an arrow into another one.

"If you're looking for something to do, you could join Widow and Scarlet Witch inside," said Cap.

"Sure thing," said Clint, sending one last arrow off and then ducking away towards the roof access door.

Most of the motel was deserted but he came across the occasional civilian, hiding under beds and in wardrobes. He kept them behind him in a small group as he went from room-to-room, but all the Hydra agents had apparently cleared out already, probably down to the parking lot to be smacked about by Steve.

Once he hit the ground floor, he found a back exit and he let the civilians out, pointing them in the direction of the police.

"East wing cleared," he reported.

"All civilians out of the other buildings, just got a couple of bad guys holed up in the lobby," said Natasha. There was the faint thump of an explosion.

"Scratch that, building clear," she said.

Clint found a way out into the parking lot just in time to see Vision knock out the last Hydra soldier.

"We got them all?" asked Clint.

"It would seem so," said Steve. "Good going, guys. Motel cleared, bad guys subdued and no civilian casualties, all in less than half an hour."

"We're the best," agreed Clint. "Do we get a treat?"

"Better question, do we get dinner?" asked Natasha, coming out of the lobby with Wanda, bringing a handful of demoralised Hydra prisoners with them.

"Bet you five bucks Bucky and Sam have eaten it all," said Clint. Now that the fight was over, the police were starting to close in, taking prisoners were they could and waving in ambulance crews for the rest.

"I don't think so," said Wanda. "Did you see how ill Sam looked?"

Clint considered. Bucky hadn't been looking that great either, although in a different way. "Yeah, okay, it'll all still be on the table, congealing."

"Something to look forward to," said Steve. "Just as soon as we help the police get all these guys locked away."

He gave them all the meaningful look that meant _stop talking about food and go be useful members of society,_ which was enough to make them all disband in order to help the police.

****

They got burgers on the way back, which turned out to be a great idea, because Clint had been right about dinner still being on the table.

Bucky didn't look any more together than he had before they left. He strode over to Steve as soon as he got in before stopping dead inches away from what Clint had thought was going to be an epic hug in order to give him a very thorough visual inspection.

“You're not hurt,” he said.

“Nope,” said Steve. “Just hungry. Want a burger?”

Bucky shook his head but followed him to the table, sitting down beside him.

Clint sat opposite, already digging into his first burger. Christ, he was so damned hungry. “You watch it in the briefing room again?”

“Yes,” said Bucky. He gave Clint a glare. “You take unnecessary risks.”

“Nah, I'm fine,” said Clint. “Did you see me shooting dudes while zipping down a rope? That was totally cool, right?”

Bucky gave him a dark look for a long moment, during which time Clint kept eating his burger and giving him an obnoxious grin. Eventually, Bucky sighed and gave in. “It was pretty dramatic.”

“Hell yeah, it was. Total fucking action hero,” said Clint, holding up his hand for Bucky to high five. He had his burger in his right hand so he held up his left, which Bucky gave a disdainful look.

He held up his metal hand and waggled his fingers. “You really want me to high five you with this? I could break your wrist.”

“Nah, you've got more control than that,” said Clint. Bucky didn't look convinced, so he sighed and balled his hand into a fist instead. “Fine, fistbump, then.”

Bucky looked as if the whole thing was beneath him as he gently reached out and tapped metal knuckles to Clint's. “Neither of us are teenagers,” he pointed out.

“Don't knock fistbumps,” said Clint. “Fistbumps are awesome. Everyone cool does them. Tony and Pepper activated cuz of a fistbump, you know.”

Bucky frowned. “You don't touch fingertips in a fistbump.”

“You haven't seen Tony fistbump,” said Clint. “It gets pretty complicated. Pepper's print is on the centre of her palm.”

“I thought you said people with prints on their hands were boring,” said Bucky.

“Yeah, okay, fair, they are,” said Clint.

“Hey!” protested Steve, who had been entirely focused on food until then. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“Chill,” said Clint, “your first one is on your abs, you're totally not boring. Even without the whole having two thing.”

“Seventy years and I still can't get over the fact that the first time Peggy touched you was stroking your chest,” said Bucky, shaking his head.

Steve shrugged. “She was just really impressed with the results of Project Rebirth.”

“She's not the only one,” said Clint, giving Steve's muscular torso a leer.

“Yeah, I think we can all appreciate that,” added Sam, giving Steve his own blatant ogle.

Steve's ears went faintly pink, which was hilarious. Clint glanced over at Natasha and twitched an eyebrow, which was enough to get her to join in.

“Perhaps we should put some shirtless photos up on the Avengers Twitter account so that more people could really appreciate Dr. Erskine's work,” she said.

Steve gave her a betrayed look. “I'm starting to think I'll need to report you all for sexual harassment.”

“Report us to who?” asked Clint. “You're our boss.”

“I suppose you could talk to Hill,” said Natasha, “but I'm pretty sure she's with us on this one. I've seen her admiring Erskine's work.”

Bucky sent Steve a half-smirk that made Clint want to cheer. Oh yeah, he'd totally knocked a guy out of a bad day just by mocking his best friend in front of him, he was the best. 

“I think you're just going to have to suffer this one, Stevie,” Bucky said. “I gotta say, I like the idea of those photos. Something to really honour Erskine's legacy, you know?”

“We could do a calendar,” suggested Wanda. She usually kept out of this kind of banter, so Clint wanted to high five her for joining in, but that seemed a bit over-the-top. Plus, burger.

“ _Dr Erskine's Career Highlights: A Retrospective_ ,” said Natasha. “I like it.”

Steve let out a long breath and looked up to the ceiling as if asking God for strength. “I hate you all so much.”

****

Three days later, Clint's new set of throwing knives were finally delivered.

"Oh, those are nice," said Natasha, looking over his shoulder.

"Aren't they?" said Clint. She reached out a hand to touch and he pulled the box away. "Oh no, these are mine. No touchy."

She rolled her eyes, but withdrew her hand. "Anyone ever told you that you're worryingly possessive about your weapons?"

"We all are," said Clint. "I mean, have you ever tried 'borrowing' Cap's shield for a bit of Frisbee? That does not go down well at all."

He was on the way to his range to try them out when he found himself outside the door to Sam and Steve's rooms instead.

Sam answered when he knocked. "Hey, what's up?"

Clint bounced on his heels, feeling like a kid. "Is Bucky in?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, hang on. Bucky! It's for you!"

Steve came out of his bedroom at the same time as Bucky emerged from what had been a spare room filled with Steve's art supplies, but was now his bedroom. Steve's art stuff was now filling up one of the guest rooms, which was going to be fine until the next time they invited everyone they'd ever met over for a massive party. Mind you, that seemed to happen a lot less now they weren't living in Tony's tower.

"Morning, Clint. What's going on?" asked Steve.

"Nothing," said Clint. He held the knives up so that Bucky could see them. "Look what came."

Bucky looked rumpled and tired, but his eyes lit up when he saw the box and he came closer to take a look. "Oh, those are nice."

"Right?" said Clint. "Thanks for the tip."

"No problem," Bucky said, eyes still taking in the knives. He reached out a hand as if to touch, then winced and pulled back, glancing across at Steve.

He'd seemed quiet over the last couple of days - even more so than usual. Or maybe it was a different kind of quiet. Rather than the watchful silence of the Winter Soldier, or the angst-ridden brooding that he had been doing, it felt more like he was just concentrating on his own thoughts. Fair enough - he definitely had a lot to think about - but that didn't mean he didn't need to be pulled out of his head a bit.

"Hey, Steve," said Clint. "Can Bucky come out and play?"

Steve suppressed a sigh. "Not actually his parent."

"Yeah, okay," said Clint. "But, can he?"

"I don't know if you should let him, sweetie," said Sam. "Clint's a bad influence. He'll have him swearing and smoking."

"You're all a bunch of fuckers," muttered Bucky, turning to go back to his room. "Just let me grab a sweater, Clint."

Sam let out a shocked sound. "Such language! Steve, did you hear?!"

"He's right," said Steve. "You are all fuckers."

"Okay, that's going in my resume," said Clint. " _Captain America thinks I'm a fucker._ "

Bucky came back out with one of his massive hoodies on. "I'm pretty sure you could get a whole list of references for that."

"Rude," said Clint. "And I was gonna let you play with my new knives."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Fine. You're a real swell guy."

"Better," acknowledged Clint as they headed out. "See you later," he said to Sam and Steve.

"Okay," he said to Bucky as they went downstairs. "I figure we get your knives as well, then I can prove to you I'm the better aim."

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, that's exactly what we'll prove, and not that the guy with fifty years more experience can kick your ass."

Clint turned towards the secure lockers where he'd put Bucky's gear, and Bucky hesitated rather than follow him. "Uh, might be best if I don't know where you've stashed it all."

Clint stopped and gave him a look. "What do you think would be the problem? Besides, there are weapons all over this place."

Bucky just shook his head. "I don't- I can't trust I'll always have control," he said. "I'll meet you at the range." He headed off before Clint could say anything else.

As he went to pick up Bucky's knives, he reflected that Bucky had far less faith in himself to recover than most of the people who knew him did. Clint had been the same after Loki; always waiting for the mind control to kick back in, not believing anyone who said it was completely gone. How long would it take for seventy years of being a glorified puppet to fade away?

When he got to the range, Bucky was leaning against a tree, staring up at a cloud with his head tipped back and a small frown on his face. Clint really, really wanted to go right up to him and put an arm around his waist so that he'd look less alone.

Okay, he really had to get this crush under control. It was a good thing he'd be leaving soon, and not hanging about making moon eyes at a guy who had enough problems already.

"Right," he said, handing Bucky's knives over to him. "Let's settle this once and for all."

"What does the winner get?" asked Bucky, flipping one of the knives up and catching it in a way that would have been impressive if Clint hadn't spent his formative years watching jugglers practice.

Clint shrugged. "You can buy me a beer or something." He balanced the weight of one of his new knives, then threw it. Bullseye, of course, but just slightly to the left. Well, he'd need to get his hand in.

"I've got no money except what I borrow off Steve, I'm not allowed off the compound, and there's plenty of beer in the fridge," said Bucky, throwing his first knife and lining it up alongside Clint's in the bullseye, but slightly to the right. Huh, okay, so Clint was going to have to work for his victory. He could do that, no problem.

"Okay, fine," he said. "Then how about, you have to explain to Steve what happened to the north west corner surveillance camera."

He threw his second knife, landing it above the first, completely in line. Oh yeah, that was how Hawkeye played the game.

"What did happen to the camera?" asked Bucky.

Clint shrugged. "There was an incident. There may or may not be an arrow in it now."

"Okay," said Bucky, throwing his knife and landing it exactly above his first one, opposite Clint's second. Bastard. "And Steve's gonna think that was me for a second?"

"Are you saying you can't come up with a story and maintain a cover?" said Clint. "Or, you know, take the arrow out and find a different excuse for the damage?" He threw his last knife, aiming for just below the first so that they all formed a neat line.

"I guess I can pretend I had a flashback or something," said Bucky. "What do I get if I win, though?"

"Your choice," said Clint.

"Right," said Bucky. He threw his last knife, matching Clint's throw again.

Clint breathed out a laugh. "I think we might need to move the target back."

"Yeah," agreed Bucky, flashing a grin that didn't help Clint repress his crush at all.

It was close, but after a few hours, when Clint had got so used to the weight of his new knives that throwing them felt like second nature, he finally managed to beat Bucky.

"Oh yeah," he said, doing a little dance that he should probably feel some shame about. "I beat the Winter Soldier. Who's the best damn assassin in the world now, bitch?"

"Still me," said Bucky. "I will concede you're a better shot with knives and arrows, but seriously, when I'm allowed guns again...."

"Yeah, yeah," said Clint, waving that away. "We'll see."

"You're damn right we will," muttered Bucky as he pulled his knives out of the target, then inspecting them carefully. "You gonna give me enough time to sharpen these before you lock them back up?"

"Of course," said Clint. "Just, uh, let's do that in my room, yeah? I don't really want Steve finding out you had them."

"You seem to do a lot of lying to the guy who's technically your boss," said Bucky as they started to head back. "I thought the Avengers were meant to be shining examples of morality and honesty."

Clint sniggered. "Yeah, not even close. Putting Cap to one side, we've got an ex-KGB assassin, a woman we met when she tried to kill us, a cyborg who sees the world in a completely different way to humans, a guy who's been best friends with Tony Stark for years and therefore must have something wrong with him, and, uh, Sam.” Poor Sam, the only genuinely decent human being amongst them. “And me, I used to be a carnie. Come on, everyone knows you can't trust carnies."

"I can't believe you actually ran away to the circus when you were a kid," said Bucky. "That was a cliché even when I was young."

Clint shrugged. "It worked out okay for me. Learnt a lot of fun skills like archery and juggling, as well as, you know, how to lie to Captain America and get away with it."

Bucky gave him a narrow-eyed look. "When I first got here you said you couldn't juggle all my knifes. How many can you juggle?"

Clint shrug. "Dunno, I'm kinda out of practice. Used to be about six."

Bucky looked down at the three knives Clint was holding, and then up again with a look of challenge. "Start with three, then."

Clint had never been able to turn down a dare. They were right by the base now and there were a handful of agents in the area, some of whom were giving Bucky distrustful looks. In the distance, Wanda and Vision were walking by the trees. Clint glanced around at everyone, then took a step back from Bucky. 

"Prepare to be amazed," he announced in his best impression of his old ringmaster, "by the astounding, the incredible, the fantastic, Hawkeye!"

Juggling his three knives was easy, particularly now he had his measure of their balance. He made sure he sent them up high, then threw in a couple of tricks, juggling under one leg for a bit and then sending them up behind his back, before he nodded at Bucky.

"Okay, chuck me one of yours."

"So you can drop it?"

Clint scoffed. "Have confidence, man."

Bucky rolled his eyes but threw one over. Clint caught it and managed to integrate it seamlessly. Oh yeah, apparently juggling was just like riding a bike.

"Okay, and another," he said.

By now, he'd drawn a small crowd and there was a smattering of applause as he caught the fifth one. It was starting to get a bit tricky to keep everything going and he had a couple of near misses before he really got into the swing of it. Wanda and Vision had walked towards them and were watching from a distance. Vision was betraying his usual level of no emotion but Wanda looked impressed. Clint gave her a wink.

"Can you take another?" asked Bucky. "Or have we hit your limit?"

"Hawkeye has no limits," gritted Clint, then realised this had basically turned into bad porn dialogue. Aw, man, not a good thing to think right now.

Bucky threw him the last knife, Clint caught it and managed to keep everything else up in the air, and didn't at all fumble a catch so badly he nearly dropped the whole lot. Nope, he was the master, everything was fine. Just fine.

“I'm going to throw yours back to you, one by one,” he said. “Get ready.”

Tossing the first one out was the trickiest bit, then after that it just got progressively easier, until he was just juggling his three again. Bucky caught all his knives easily, then gave a couple of slow claps as Clint caught his knives and gave a bow to both him and the others watching.

“Okay, fine, I'm kinda impressed,” he said.

“Never doubt my ability to amaze and astound,” said Clint.

“Can you do it with fire?” asked Wanda, and summoned three balls of red fire to send up into the air.

Clint shook his head. “It's totally cheating to use your amazing, physics-defying powers to make the normal guy look bad.”

She waved her hands and the fire disappeared. “It was impressive,” she said. “It took me a while to train myself, even with my powers.”

“The dedication to learn such things is always remarkable,” said Vision. “Think of the hundreds of split second calculations that must be done in order for the hands to know exactly where the knives will be. The human brain is an incredible thing.”

“Especially mine,” said Clint, and then carefully ignored Bucky's snort in favour of turning back towards the base.

“I seriously thought you were going to cut off your fingers,” said Bucky as they headed inside, leaving Wanda and Vision to discuss the potential of the human brain, or whatever. “You seem pretty clutzy.”

Clint sent him a grin. “For a moment, I kinda thought I was too,” he admitted.

Bucky laughed.

Clint grabbed them a couple of beers from the kitchen on their way to his room, then they settled on the sofa with his knife sharpening kit. 

A few minutes passed as they each took care of their weapons. It felt peaceful and domestic, which Clint should probably be avoiding given that it was giving him the warm and fuzzies but, fuck it, he was going to be gone in a few weeks. He'd have plenty of time to get over this thing then.

“Can I ask you something?” asked Bucky, quietly.

“Sure, as long as it's not, you know, classified,” said Clint. “Oh, wait, everything I knew that was classified was leaked all over the internet by my best friend. Go nuts.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, during which time there was only the soft sound of the knife sharpener. “The motel Hydra attacked,” he said, then stopped.

“Yeah?” prompted Clint.

“Was it called the Scottish Valley Motel?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

Bucky was silent again, then he licked at his lips as if nervous. “And the other town they attacked, that was in Indiana?”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Tiny place called Bluffton.”

Bucky's mouth twisted unhappily. “Yeah, okay.”

Clint gave him a moment, patiently waiting for an explanation. None was forthcoming. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, why'd you want to know?”

Bucky's shoulders tensed. “You remember I said I holed up in a motel and got drunk?”

“Yeah,” said Clint, and then realised what Bucky was saying. “Wait, that was the same place?”

Bucky nodded. “And before that I was in Bluffton for a couple of days.”

“You think they're chasing you,” said Clint.

Bucky snorted. “I _know_ they're chasing me. They have been since I got out, of course they are. Nothing they want more than their tame killer back. Just, I think they're getting closer than I thought.”

“They won't get you here,” said Clint. “Bucky, you know we won't let them put a finger on you.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Bucky, but he still looked twitchy. His metal hand was clenched around the sharpening stone, plates shifting as if under pressure. 

Clint reached out and rested his fingers on top of it, then wondered if that hadn't been a stupid idea when Bucky tensed even further. “You got away from them,” he said. “We'll make sure you stay away from them.”

Bucky let out a long, slow breath, shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, I know.”

“Did you tell Steve about this?” asked Clint.

Bucky made a face and turned back to the knife he was sharpening. Clint moved his hand away, trying to ignore how reluctant he was to lose the contact. For fuck's sake, Barton, it wasn't even his real hand.

“Nah, not yet. He'll get all- Steve about it. Freak out and run off to punch Hitler or whoever in the face.”

“He'd probably find it easier to keep you safe if he knew what was going on,” said Clint. “Not to mention he's spending hours going over the intel on why Hydra might have attacked those locations, looking for answers when he doesn't need to.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Bucky. “I know. I will tell him, just-” He made a face. “He agreed we could go to Brooklyn this weekend. Wander around some of the old places, see if it jogs any more memories loose and, you know, bitch about what modernity has done to it. If he finds out about this, he'll call it off.”

Clint groaned. “So, basically, you're asking me not to tell him?”

Bucky shrugged. “You did say you were good at lying to him.”

“About small stuff!” said Clint. “Not stuff about Hydra, or that might end with his best friend getting hurt.”

“I'm gonna tell him,” said Bucky. “Afterwards. I just- Clint. I really want to go and see Brooklyn with him. And Hydra are still way behind me – I was in that motel three weeks before I turned up here. There's no way they'll be looking for me in Brooklyn if they're still retracing my steps. I promise I'll tell him as soon as we're back.”

Clint screwed his eyes shut, then let out a long breath. It was clear from Bucky's voice how much he wanted this and Clint couldn't bring himself to destroy that. “Okay, fine,” he said, “then I'm coming too. I can keep an eye out while you two are doing, you know, nostalgic shit.”

He'd been expecting to have to fight Bucky over that, threaten him with telling Steve himself if Bucky didn't let him go along, but instead a smile broke out on Bucky's face. “That's actually what I was going to ask,” he said. “Steve's bringing Sam, so with you there as well, we'll have enough to face anything. Especially if two of us know what we're looking out for.”

Clint groaned. “I fell right into that.”

“Yup,” said Bucky, turning back to his knives.

They finished sharpening their knives, then played a couple of games of _Call of Duty_ , which Bucky turned out to be pretty good at for a guy who hadn't played a single computer game before last week. And then it was time for dinner.

Clint took Bucky's knives back to the locker his other weapons were in before heading into the dining room. Bucky and Steve were already there, but things didn't look good and Clint felt himself tense until he heard what Bucky was saying.

He had his head down and his hair falling forward as he shrugged. “I just- I don't know, Steve. I lost myself for a bit, I guess, and when I came back, I'd broken the camera.”

Ah, he was just paying off his debt. Awesome.

“That's okay, Buck,” said Steve. “Don't worry about it, we'll get it replaced.” He turned and looked straight at Clint. “I'm docking your pay to cover it, by the way.”

Clint gaped. “ _My_ pay? But he was the one-”

Steve snorted. “If you think I don't know when this punk is covering for someone, given how many years he spent covering for me, you're an idiot. And so's he. It's coming out of your pay, Hawkeye.”

Bucky gave Clint a shrug. “Sorry, man, I gave it my best.”

“Damn it,” said Clint.


	3. Chapter 3

They took a quinjet to New York, landing it at Stark Tower and then borrowing one of Tony's cars to go to Brooklyn. Clint had brought along a bag with his bow and quiver, as well as a handful of other weapons, which he dumped in the trunk. Steve added a bag that Clint knew contained his shield and shared a look with him that came with a helpless shrug. Apparently he wasn't the only one who liked to have his weapons close by at all times.

"This is exciting," said Sam. "Like a school trip."

Bucky just glowered at him. He was wearing what he seemed to think was incognito wear of an entirely black outfit, the hood of his over-sized hoodie pulled close over his face and black leather gloves hiding his hands. He looked like he was going to mug someone.

For all he'd said he was looking forward to this, it was clear that he wasn't coping with being out of the safety of the Avengers compound very well. Clint could see Steve giving him worried looks out of the corner of his eye.

Steve's idea of a disguise was a baseball hat. Clint was giving them half an hour before he got recognised, and was betting it would be by a kid.

"You know, there are guided walks you can do that take you round all the key locations from Steve's childhood," he said. "We could just join one of those."

"What?" said Steve. "Oh, no. No way."

"How many locations can they even know about?" asked Bucky. "I mean, where he used to live, maybe the school...? It's not like they know where we used to go to hang out."

Clint did a quick Google. "Okay, they've got his childhood home, his school, the shop where he had his first delivery job, the home of his childhood best friend Bucky Barnes-"

Bucky let out a loud groan. Clint kept going.

"-the site of the top secret lab where Project Rebirth took place as well as other neighbourhood sights like the nearest bar to where he grew up, where the group will stop for a drink."

"You're kidding," said Steve. "They know most of our childhood was during Prohibition, right?"

"Yeah, as if that ever really stopped anyone back then," muttered Bucky.

Steve gave him a long look that made Clint think there was more to that statement. "Yeah," he agreed. "Still, seems weird. What the hell kind of person would go on a tour like that?"

"According to this, Captain America fans of all ages, as well as those with an interest in the history of the period," read out Clint. "But, good news, it only runs on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays, so we won't have to worry about running into them today."

"Great," said Steve. "You know, I really think I would have been happier not knowing that was a thing."

"There's a guy in Seattle who gives archery lessons that he claims will teach you how to 'shoot like Hawkeye'," said Clint. "Uses my face on all his advertising. Which is kinda hilarious, cuz any proper archer will tell you that I have the worst stance and no one should ever learn to shoot like me."

"Uh, weren't you showing Bucky how to shoot the other day?" asked Sam.

"Yup," said Clint. He gave Bucky a grin. "Giving him all the wrong advice."

Bucky sent him a glower but they were heading over the Brooklyn Bridge and his attention was distracted, so Clint didn't get the comeback he was hoping for.

"It's pretty different," said Steve, glancing at Bucky.

"Yeah," he said shortly, eyes fixed out the window. "I remember enough to tell that."

When they got close to where Bucky had used to live, Sam parked the car up. Bucky looked like he was starting to unravel, hands clenched into fists, so Clint volunteered to go get everyone coffee and meet them at the apartment building that had used to be his family home. Well, coffee always made him feel better, hopefully it would work for Bucky too.

He took the chance to do a bit of recon, circling the nearest streets and keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, then climbing up the tallest building to check things out from his favourite kind of vantage spot. Nothing seemed out of place. Maybe Bucky had been right about Hydra being way behind him.

He got four coffees and got over to the building to find the other three on the sidewalk still, Bucky staring up at the windows with a stone face.

"I told you the whole street was new buildings," Steve was saying. "Come on, Buck. Look, Mr. Flaherty's hasn't changed much."

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember that." He took a deep breath, metal hand whirring as his fist opened and closed. "God, Steve. This isn't-"

"Yeah, I know," said Steve, quietly. "I had the same thing when I first came here."

Clint caught Sam's eye and they both quietly moved away, giving Steve and Bucky space.

"So," said Clint, slowly, "does it ever freak you out that you're fucking a guy who remembers prohibition?"

"Nope," said Sam. He paused, then gave Clint a half grin. "Occasionally it freaks me out that I'm fucking a guy that remembers the Jim Crow Laws."

"But not Martin Luther King," said Clint. "Yeah, that's a mindfuck."

Steve and Bucky wandered over, Bucky still twitching and glancing around over his shoulder. Steve took his coffee from Clint, then picked up Bucky's and shoved it in his hand when he didn't move for it.

"Do you want to take a break?"

Bucky shook his head. "No, I'm fine," he said, in a voice that made it sound like a blatant lie. "Where next? Your place?"

"Yeah, I guess," said Steve. "If you think this is bad though, you wait and see what they built on that."

Clint kept a sharp eye out as they walked, hanging back with Sam behind Steve and Bucky. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

"What do you think Steve would say if I suggested stopping for a drink at that bar?" he asked Sam.

Sam snorted. "Yeah, not likely."

Bucky abruptly stopped moving and Clint tensed, glancing around in case he'd seen something Clint had missed. There was nothing. Instead, he was staring into the mouth of an empty alleyway that contained nothing more exciting than a dumpster.

“Steve,” he said in a low voice, reaching out to grip at Steve's jacket. “This is- I remember this place.”

“Yeah,” said Steve, sounding just as emotional. 

Okay, not Hydra then, just a memory. Clint glanced around at the rooftops just to be sure, then leaned against a wall to wait.

Buck and Steve went into to the alley together, Bucky still clinging to Steve's sleeve. Sam watched them with a faint frown.

“You reckon we're going to need to stage an intervention if he gets too worked up?” asked Clint.

Sam shook his head. “Nah, he's fine. Steve's got a lid on it. Just- it's going to be a hard day for him.”

“Well, we kinda knew that going in,” said Clint.

Sam turned to look at him with a too-knowing glint in his eye. “Is that why you came along?”

Ah, crap. Why did the guy have to be so damned perceptive? Clint tried to play it off with a shrug. “Haven't been in Brooklyn for a while, thought it was time for a visit. I used to live here too, you know.”

That seemed to distract Sam, at least for now.

“I didn't know that,” said Sam. “Near here?”

“Over in Bed-Stuy,” said Clint. “Back when I was just a SHIELD agent, before Tony decided to set up a superhero frathouse and save me having to bother with paying rent.”

“Always good to get in with a billionaire philanthropist,” said Sam, nodding. “You know he's working on yet another set of wings for me?”

Clint snorted. “Doesn't surprise me. I think the moment he finishes something, he starts on the next version.”

A kid of about thirteen was passing by the alley when he stopped, eyes going wide as he stared into it, presumably at Steve and Bucky. Clint sighed, digging into his pocket.

“Hey, kid.”

The boy turned towards him with a shocked look and yeah, Clint's role as most anonymous Avenger only worked when he wasn't spotted with Captain America.

“Hawkeye,” the boy breathed.

Sam groaned next to him.

Clint held out one of the Avenger's keyrings he'd bought with him for just this moment. “Keep your mouth shut about having seen us, and you can have this limited edition Avengers keyring, signed by me.”

The kid gaped, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is it of the old line-up or the weird new one?”

“Oh, great,” muttered Sam. “How am I weird compared to a giant green monster?”

Clint glanced down at the keyring he was holding, then dug back down into his pocket, pulling the others he had with him out. He sorted through them.

“Okay, it's the totally-not-weird new line up, the old Avengers Tower, or Captain America one side and Iron Man on the other.”

The kid considered for a moment. “Cap and Iron Man,” he said, holding a hand out.

Clint put the keyring in it, then kept it in his grip, tightening his fingers to the edge of pain. “And not a word to anyone, yeah?”

The kid shook his head. “I promise.”

Clint let him go and he dashed off, keyring clutched in his hand.

“Isn't it just great being a role model to kids?” asked Sam, dryly.

Bucky and Steve emerged from the alley, Steve's arm on Bucky's shoulder as he leaned in to say something quiet to him. Bucky's jaw was clenched as tight as his fists, everything about him screaming suppressed stress. Clint felt a surge of jealousy that Steve was the one touching him and talking him down, and then ruthlessly squashed it. That wasn't his place at all. He turned away, scanning the rooftops to stop himself from just staring at the two of them.

There was a movement.

“Down!” he shouted before his brain had fully comprehended the glint of light he'd spotted shining off a rifle barrel.

The others were trained enough to react immediately, throwing themselves to the ground without wasting time on checking what Clint had seen. Just in time. A shot whizzed over head, right through where Bucky had been standing.

“Into the alley!” commanded Steve, pushing Bucky in front of him as they all moved, keeping one step ahead of the shower of bullets that started to ricochet off the walls around them.

They ducked behind the dumpster. Clint pulled out the knife he'd brought along in case of just this emergency.

“Who the hell are these guys?” asked Sam. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“They're Hydra,” said Bucky, grimly. Clint glanced at him, hoping this wasn't about to trigger some kind of meltdown, but he looked in control, if pissed.

Well, Clint could relate to that. He was pretty pissed as well.

There was a momentary pause in the hail of bullets and he took the chance to click on the Avengers communicator that was built into his hearing aid. “Hawkeye reporting to Avengers Base. We've been attacked by Hydra, unknown number of assailants, unknown motivation. As yet, no casualties, but they're got us pinned down and there are civilians in the area.”

“Roger that,” said Hill over the line. “Contacting police now to start evacuation of your immediate area.”

“Ah, shit,” said Sam, glancing up. A Hydra helicopter was hovering over the building above them, letting down more agents on black ropes.

“Hill's getting the police to clear the area of civilians,” reported Clint.

Steve nodded. “We're going to need to move too.”

“We need the weapons in the car,” said Clint.

Bucky let out a growl. “You should all just get out,” he said. “They're not after you. They're here for me.”

“No way we're leaving you,” said Steve. “C'mon, Bucky. Till the end of the line. This doesn't even come close.”

Bucky sent him a glare, then reached out with his metal hand and ripped off the bar that served as a handle on the trashcan with a squeal and a shower of sparks. “Don't get hurt, then,” he gritted and for some reason his eyes flickered from Steve to Clint for a split second before he turned, jumping up to catch the bottom of the fire escape.

“Oh yeah,” said Sam, “let's climb up to where the bad guys are waiting for us, that'll totally be safe.”

“If we don't, they'll surround us on the roofs and just pick us off,” said Clint, tucking his knife away so that he'd have both hands free to climb, then launching himself after Bucky, who was already close to the top.

He had no armour, only one knife as a weapon, and no idea just how many bad guys there were. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun. Maybe he could bribe them with the keyrings he had left.

“Hawkeye,” said Natasha's voice over his comm. “Vision is on his way to you, ETA in twenty. We're following in a quinjet, but it'll be a while before we get there. Do you want me to ask Iron Man to mobilise for immediate assistance?”

Clint glanced over at Cap, who was vaulting over the dumpster to take on a gang of Hydra who were attacking at ground level.

“Cap!” he called. “Widow wants to know if we want Iron Man mobilised!”

Steve hit a Hydra agent hard enough to send him crashing into the side of a parked car, then pulled his gun from his hands and used it to knock him out. “Negative!” he called back. “Let Tony carry on pretending he doesn't have any suits left for now!”

Bucky paused for a moment at the top of the fire escape, glancing over the edge, then hefted the pole and threw it like a javelin before throwing himself after it. 

“Cap says to leave Iron Man in the box for now,” Clint told Natasha. “I'll let you know if we change our minds.”

“Confirmed,” said Natasha. “And, Hawkeye? Take care.”

“Always,” said Clint, throwing himself over the edge of the roof into the middle of a pitched fight.

Bucky had already taken out a huge swathe of the Hydra agents who had been on the roof and was ducking behind an air con unit to get away from the helicopter's machine gun, which was sending bullets rattling in an arc, apparently unconcerned that they were hitting more than a few of their own men.

Right, okay, getting the helicopter down was the first- wait, no, the first priority was taking out the three agents who had spotted Clint and were coming at him with their guns up to fire. He threw himself into a somersault, avoiding their shots and landing with a foot firmly planted in one of their faces. There was no time to grab his gun with the other two turning on Clint, so he ducked under a gun barrel and smashed his fist into another Hydra face to disorientate him, then slung an arm around his neck and pulled him round to act as a shield between himself and the third agent as he stuck his knife firmly in his back, twisting it to make sure he went down and then wondering why he'd bothered when the other agent peppered him with bullets. 

Clint threw the corpse at him, distracting him for just long enough to get the knife into his throat. He grabbed the gun out of his hands and turned in time to catch the first agent he'd hit getting back up and shot him in the shoulder, putting him out for the count.

He took a moment to regroup and take in what was happening. From the road below he could hear Steve and Sam engaging with the enemy still. Bucky had managed to take out all the other agents on this rooftop, which was pretty damn impressive. As Clint watched, he pulled the metal pole out of a body it was impaling and hurled it at the helicopter, smashing through the windscreen and through the chest of the pilot.

The helicopter went into a spin, and Clint had seen this kinda thing too often. He glanced around the roof, judging distances to other buildings. “Bucky!” he called.

Bucky was still watching the helicopter as it careered out of control, but he glanced over his shoulder at Clint's shout.

“We need to get off here!” Clint said, and gestured at the closest building, which was the one across the alley. They should both be able to make the ten foot jump. Well, Bucky definitely would. Clint hadn't fallen from a building in a while, so maybe he was due.

Bucky gave him a curt nod and started to jog towards him, pausing to grab two of the guns from downed Hydra agents and slinging them over his shoulders. The whine of the helicopter's engine was growing louder as it spiralled down, so Clint made sure the gun he'd taken was secure, then took a run up and jumped.

There was a heartbeat that went on just slightly too long when he thought he wasn't going to make it, then he was landing on the other side, rolling before he sprang to his feet. He turned to see Bucky jump just as the helicopter crashed, barely making it as the fuel tank exploded, sending up a fireball. Clint really, really hoped that the police had managed to evacuate that building already. It looked like an office block; with any luck there hadn't been anyone there on a Saturday anyway.

“Well, that was fun,” he said to Bucky, once he was safely landed beside him.

Bucky gave him a look like he was nuts.

There was a shot from the building across the road and Bucky threw up his metal arm. A tranquilliser dart pinged off it.

"Time to go," said Clint, starting to jog across the roof to the next building, which was a storey down. Once they got down there, the wall would give them some cover. Bullets started to rattle across the rooftop as he ran.

Bucky sprinted past him then launched himself off the wall as if it was no more than a few inches. Clint jumped after him, tucking and rolling and hoping he wasn't going to end up with more than bruises.

The landing knocked all the air out of his lungs, but he wasn't being shot at any more so he counted it as a win. Bucky paused while he pushed himself to his feet, not looking even a little bit out of breath. Asshole.

"That was a tranq," said Clint, once he had enough air in his lungs to speak.

Bucky nodded. "So was the first shot, by the alley," he said. "They're trying to get me back."

His face was set but Clint thought he could detect fear underneath the mask.

"We won't let them get you," he said. "Come on, let's get to the car. I need my bow."

There was a crackle in his ear and then Steve's voice came in over the comm unit. He must have brought his communications earpiece with him, probably in the bag with his shield. "Hawkeye, report."

"Hey, Cap," said Clint, and Bucky stiffened. "We're on the roofs still, on our way to the car."

Bucky was staring at him as if he could see inside his brain. Clint mouthed _he's fine_ at him, which only seemed to turn his tension down by one tiny notch.

"We're already there," said Steve. "There's a bit of a lull, but I think they're regrouping for another attack."

"Okay," said Clint, starting to move along the roof in the direction of where they'd parked the car. "Give us five minutes and we'll be there."

"Roger that," said Steve, then gave a little pause. "How's Bucky doing?"

Bucky was jogging next to Clint as they moved along the rooftops, jumping over the narrow wall that separated two buildings. His face was set and his fists clenched, but he didn't have the dark, shadowed look that Clint associated with the Winter Soldier.

"Fine," he said, then couldn't resist adding, "He took out a helicopter with a pole. It was pretty awesome."

Bucky glanced over at him and there was the briefest flash of a smile.

"Right," said Steve. "You know, I once took out a quinjet with just my shield."

"Show off," said Clint.

They had to jump across another alley before they came out on the building above where they'd left the car. It was right by a corner and Clint could see a group of Hydra massing just around the corner, tucked behind two cars, one of which was on its side. Across the street, he could see dark figures on the opposite rooftop, running to get into position.

Bucky paused for a moment on the edge of the roof, looking down at where Sam and Steve could be seen leaning over the open trunk.

"Oh sure, silhouette yourself for their sharpshooters," said Clint. "Genius plan."

Bucky sent him a dark look, then took a step forward, off the building.

Christ, and Natasha thought Clint was bad about jumping off things. He peered over the edge to see Bucky land, going to his knees and bracing himself with his metal hand before standing up as if nothing had happened. Okay, well, there had to be a ladder about for the normal folk, right?

He found a fire escape that led most of the way down, then jumped the final distance. By the time he got down Steve and Bucky were engaged in the kind of shoulder-patting that meant _I'm glad you're okay but I'm too manly to say so_. Clint ducked around them to get at his bag, pulling out his bow and quiver with a grin.

"There's my baby," he said, resisting the urge to kiss it. "Now I'm ready to take these assholes out."

He slung the quiver over his back, dumping the gun he'd taken from the Hydra agent in the trunk, then rifled through the bag and pulled out the handgun he'd got from Bucky's stash of weapons this morning when he'd been packing.

"Here you go," he said, holding it out to him.

Bucky stared before he took it. "This is my gun," he said.

"Yeah," said Clint. "Well, everyone prefers their own weapons, right?"

Bucky checked that it was fully loaded, fingers wrapped around it as if in an embrace. Clint would mock, but he was doing pretty much the same thing with his bow.

"You brought his gun?" asked Sam. "Did you know there'd be trouble?"

Clint shrugged. "Always better to be safe than sorry, right? Steve bought his shield."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Steve would sleep with his shield if I hadn't put my foot down," he muttered.

"Don't be bitchy just cuz you're the only who didn't pack properly," said Steve, fingers resting on the curve of his shield almost protectively.

Sam sighed and picked up the gun Clint had abandoned, pulling out the rounds and stashing them in his pockets. He already had one of the Hydra guns that he must have picked up earlier.

"I've got another couple of knives if you want one," offered Clint, pulling one out of the bag and offering it to him.

Sam rolled his eyes but took it. "You know normal people don't take an arsenal on a day trip, right?"

"It's cute that you still think of yourself as a normal person," said Steve, and gave him a brief kiss.

Bucky cleared his throat. "Got anything else in that bag?" he asked Clint.

Clint grinned and pulled out his last knife, handing it to him. "I'm basically the Santa Claus of weaponry."

There was a loud shout of "Hail Hydra!" from around the corner, and a moment later gunfire started pouring down at them from the buildings opposite.

They all ducked down behind the car.

"Okay," said Steve. "Clint, you get those snipers down. Bucky, Sam, you don't have comms so stick with me or Clint; don't get separated. We've got about ten minutes before Vision gets here, half an hour before the others."

"So, we're aiming to make sure we've got it all sorted by then, yeah?" said Clint. “The last thing we want is to be ribbed for needing a rescue.”

"Exactly," said Steve, and threw himself out from behind the car as a mass of Hydra agents came charging around the corner, throwing his shield at the front ranks. Bucky was a split second behind him, gun blasting. Sam stayed crouched behind the car, firing his stolen gun at the front ranks.

Clint ignored them all in favour of notching an arrow, sighting up at the nearest sniper on the roof, and letting fly. He caught him straight through the throat but was already sending the next arrow up, ducking down as the snipers turned their guns on him. Bullets sparked off the car and Clint hoped Tony would be understanding about them trashing it. Yeah, not likely.

While he was ducked down, he got three arrows lined up, then stood and sent them flying at the three Hydra agents advancing on Bucky, hitting them all. Bucky sent him a glare which Clint returned with a smug grin before a bullet whizzed over his head and he turned to take out another sniper.

There was a little cluster of them working their way to the edge of the building, where they'd be able to fire straight down at Steve and Bucky, so he pulled out an explosive arrow, mentally apologising to the owner of the building.

He landed it right in the middle of them, sending them flying. At least two of them went off the roof into the street, one of them letting out a strangled scream as he fell.

There were two gunmen left on the roof. Either they were more cautious than the others had been, or they'd learnt from the colleagues' mistakes, because they took care to stick behind cover, only popping up to send the occasional shot raining down in Clint's direction.

Sam's gun ran empty and he ducked down to reload, then gave Clint a half-grin and jumped out from behind the car, heading towards where Steve was deep in a melee of Hydra agents.

Clint stayed where he was, ducking behind the trunk to stare up at the snipers. Right, time to prove he deserved his title of best shot in the world. He pulled out a boomerang arrow, braced himself, then stood, fired, and ducked back before either of them could squeeze a bullet off. He didn't need to even watch to know the arrow had soared past, then curved around to hit the agent he'd been aiming for in the back.

A Hydra agent went flying past him into a wall and he glanced over to see Bucky smash into another one with his metal arm, then spinning to fire point blank at a guy who thought he was sneaking up behind him.

"How's it going?" Clint called over. "Having fun yet?"

Bucky sent him a startled look, distracted enough by the question that an agent was able to swing his gun barrel at his head. He caught it in his hand, squeezing until the metal bent. “I'm not sure our definitions of fun match up."

Clint shrugged, pulling out another arrow and sending it flying at the man futilely trying to pull his gun free of Bucky's grip. He fell back with a choke as it hit. "Maybe you just need to broaden your horizons."

Oh man, he really shouldn't be flirting with the Winter Soldier during a battle, that was the kind of shit that always got him into trouble with his handlers, back when SHIELD still ran the show.

The remaining sniper sent a shot down at Bucky just as he twisted away to kick at another agent. It was another tranquilliser dart and it only missed by inches. Clint realised that none of the Hydra agents were actually shooting at Bucky, instead they were trying to take him down without killing him. He turned to look up at the last sniper, who had already taken cover behind the brick hut that held the roof access door.

If that was the guy they'd given the tranq gun to, that meant he was their best shot. Clint grinned to himself, slung the bow over his shoulder, and darted out from the car to go back up the fire escape he'd come down before. He needed height for this next bit.

The building on his side of the street was one storey higher than the one the Hydra sniper was on, which meant Clint could stay out of his line of fire by ducking down as he pulled out a grappling arrow. He sent it flying up to land on the much higher building next to the one he wanted to be on, then wrapped the rope around his arms, took a few steps back to get a bit of a run up, and threw himself forward, off the building.

There was a breathless moment of freefall, then the rope yanked tight and swung him across the street, over the heads of the fighters below. He had to try really hard not to yell out with exhilaration and took a moment to hope he didn't look as much like Tarzan as he felt before the roof of the other building was rushing up very quickly and he had to brace himself to let go of the rope at just the right moment to land in a roll without splatting into the wall.

Every muscle ached as he made it to his feet, throbbing at him in a way they never had five years ago. Damn, he really was getting too old for this.

He didn't have time to pull his bow off his back before the Hydra sniper was on him, firing a tranq that Clint was easily able to duck, then swinging the rifle at him like a bludgeon. Clint moved too slowly to miss that one, catching it on his shoulder as he pulled his knife out. Oh, that was going to be a great bruise.

“Hail Hydra!” snarled the sniper, which gave Clint a chance to slash at him with his knife, catching a line along his side that scored open his uniform. Did these guys not get any body armour at all? That seemed a pretty harsh way of saying 'you are totally disposable'.

The blade didn't sink in far enough to put the guy out, but it was enough to check his motion, making him move back for long enough for Clint to shift into a proper fighting stance. This guy was good, he'd need to concentrate.

The guy dropped the rifle and pulled out a handgun instead and, okay, suddenly Clint was the mug who'd bought a knife to a gunfight. He threw himself to the left to avoid being shot, reaching for an arrow in his quiver. He didn't quite make it, but the bullet pinged off something in his pocket rather than sinking into his thigh, which was a miracle Clint didn't have time to look into right now.

He jabbed the arrow into the guy's foot, through his boot, then activated the electrical charge. The sniper jolted with the shock and Clint took the time to pull away, getting his bow off his back and shaking it out, fitting an arrow to the string and pulling back just as the charge ran out and the sniper pulled the arrow out of his foot, cursing to himself.

Clint was just about to let the arrow go when there was a shot and a bullet flew through the sniper's skull, sending out a spray of blood and brain matter as he dropped to the floor. Clint blinked at him for a moment, then stomped over to the edge of the building to see Bucky standing below, gun still pointed up at the roof. He gave Clint a merry salute, then turned to say something to Steve beside him amongst the scattered bodies that were all that remained of the Hydra forces.

Cap's voice came over the comm with an amused tone to it. “Bucky said to tell you that he's having fun now.”

Clint scowled. “Cap, your best friend sucks.”

Steve just laughed.

Vision arrived just as Clint made it back down to street level. He glanced around at the mess they'd made and blinked. “I will inform Mr. Stark that the Maria Stark Foundation will need to fund some renovation.”

“You should tell him that we trashed his car as well,” said Clint. “Wait, no, tell him _Hydra_ trashed his car.”

“Are you okay?” asked Vision, frowning at him.

Not at all. Now the adrenalin from the fight was fading, Clint could feel every bruise and strained muscle, the aches in every single part of his body that was too old to be treated like a teenager's. God, his knees were killing him.

“Fine,” he said.

Vision didn't look reassured. “There's a bullet hole in your pants.”

Clint glanced down at the same time as everyone else did. “Oh yeah, I was shot a little bit.”

“Shot a _little bit_ ,” repeated Bucky. “How the hell does that work?”

Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out the handful of keyrings. One of them now had a deep dent in it where the bullet had glanced off instead of grazing his leg. “Hey, look! You guys saved me!” He held up the shattered surface of the group photo. “What the hell are these things made out of, anyway? Maybe we should be making armour out of them.”

Bucky scowled at him, ripping the keyring out of his hand. “You're an idiot,” he snapped, and stalked off. Clint blinked after him, then turned to Vision before realising the stupidity inherent in looking to a cyborg for answers on bizarre human behaviour.

****

Just before the quinjet taking them back to the base landed, Sam handed the knife he'd borrowed from Clint over. “Oh, hey, nearly forgot I had this.”

“I wouldn't have,” said Clint, tucking away. “That's my sixth favourite.”

“So what's this one?” said Bucky, also handing his back.

Clint hefted it. “Well, it was my fifth favourite, but you seem to have chipped it,” he said, squinting at the blade.

“Sorry,” said Bucky. “One of them tried it out on my arm. If it helps, I think he left a scratch.” He held up his metal arm, where a thin line was visible by the elbow, then squinted. “Oh wait, no-” He licked his finger and rubbed the line off. “It was just dirt.”

Clint sighed. “Great,” he muttered. “Hydra's tech geeks: one, Clint's fifth best knife: zero.” Not to mention that he was never going to unsee the dart of Bucky's tongue as he'd licked his finger. How the hell did this crush just keep getting worse?

“I, uh. I guess you want this back as well,” said Bucky, holding out his gun.

Clint looked at it, then glanced at Steve, who was sat next to Sam with their fingers resting on each other's prints, watching the conversation with a quietly content look. “As far as I'm concerned, if you trust yourself with it, you've earned the right to keep that today.”

Bucky tightened his grip on it as he contemplated that. “I think if you trust me, I can trust me too,” he said, after a pause.

Clint gave him a smile, then glanced at Steve. “Cap?”

Steve glanced from the gun to Bucky's face, then back again. “Just don't tell Hill,” he said. “Not until I've had a chance to talk to her.”

Bucky grinned at him, looking exactly like the guy from the old wartime reels for a moment as he tucked the gun away under his hoodie. “I can do that.”

“Don't get nuts and shoot us all with it, yeah?” said Clint. “Cuz if you do, and Hill finds out I'm the reason you've got it, she'll spend days killing me.”

“Funny,” said Bucky. “I always heard Steve was the leader of the Avengers Initiative.”

“Sure,” agreed Clint. “On paper. Ask him if he's ever told Hill what to do, though.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, who looked sheepish and then shrugged. “She doesn't really seem to need any orders.”

“She used to take orders from Fury,” Natasha pointed out.

“Oh well, Fury,” said Clint. “Totally different thing. Hey, you heard from him lately? When's he getting back in the game?”

“Last I heard, he was talking about opening a deli,” she said.

“Bullshit,” said Clint. “C'mon, even if he was retiring, he wouldn't go for a _deli_.”

“Just like Hawkeye wouldn't go for a farm?” asked Natasha.

Clint waved that away. “Totally different thing. I mean, think about it. A deli would mean _customer service_. Can you see him being polite and welcoming to every asshole that wandered in with an eyepatch joke?”

Natasha paused. “You make a good point.”

“Damn straight I do,” said Clint, with a nod.

All Clint wanted when they got back to the base was a hot shower and to crash out on the couch, which was naturally why Hill cornered him the moment he walked in.

"Barton," she said, beckoning him away from the group.

Clint sent a helpless look at Natasha, who just smirked at his pain. He had a feeling she was irritated that she'd missed the fight but arrived in time for the clear up.

As he reluctantly followed Hill, he caught Bucky looking at him.

“I see what you mean about following her orders,” he silently mouthed.

Clint glared at him, then gave him a meaningful eyebrow-waggle, followed by a pointed stare at Steve. “Tell him,” he mouthed back. He wasn't going to be the only one trapped in an awkward conversation.

Bucky scowled at him, but cleared his throat. "Steve, can I have a word?"

"Sure," said Steve, as Clint followed Hill into her office.

"I'm going to need a full report on today from you," she said, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Clint groaned. "Oh, man, really?"

"Yes," she said, sitting down behind her desk. "Specifically, I need a full report on Barnes, and how he coped."

"He was fine," said Clint. "Killed some bad guys."

"I'm afraid we're going to need more detail than that," she said. "I'll need it by five."

"You really know how to ruin someone's day," he told her.

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "I'd have thought Hydra already did that."

"You're kidding, right?" said Clint. "Fighting Hydra is so much more fun than paperwork."

"Well, then I'm sorry to crush your spirit," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "We need a detailed report on Barnes so we can evaluate what sort of role he might play within the organisation in the future."

Clint stared at her for a moment. "You want to see if you can get him to join the team," he said.

"Eventually," she agreed. "First we need to make sure he's not a danger to the team, and part of that is how he reacts under stressful situations, like being attacked by the guys who had him brainwashed for sixty years. Hence, you need to write me a report."

Clint made a face. "Yeah, okay, fine. I'll get it done."

He made himself coffee first, then sat down and wrote down as much as he could remember about Bucky during the fight, censoring all the parts that came across as a cheap romance novel.

_When he spun around, his hair flowed out and looked sexy as hell, when really you'd have thought that cut would just look stupid and get in the way._

Yeah, no, better to stick to the fact that he'd fought on their side without hesitation, hadn't retreated into Winter Soldier mode, and had been enough 'Bucky' at the end to wind Clint up by shooting his guy. That would have to be enough for Hill.

****

The next morning, Natasha cornered him while he was having his coffee. "There's a meeting today," she said.

Clint tensed. "Oh god, please tell me I don't have to go."

"Relax," she said. "It's just Steve, Hill and me. It's about Barnes."

"Ah, right," said Clint. "That's why she made me do paperwork yesterday."

"Yes," she said. "Well, and also she just likes to make you suffer."

"Cruel," said Clint, finishing off his mug and then staring down at it, wondering if he should bother with breakfast along with his second one.

"I think there's just something about your face that prompts it," said Natasha, tipping her head to one side as she regarded it.

Clint scowled and got up for coffee and a bowl of the most disgustingly colourful cereal he could find. Natasha looked at it as he sat back down and failed to hide her disgust. Clint just grinned at her as he took a big spoonful.

"At any rate, Hill gave me a copy of your report," said Natasha, "but can you just be honest with me; I wasn't there. Do you think he's got it together enough for us to trust him?"

Ugh, it was too early for this. Clint shrugged. "I think so," he said. "I mean, there was nothing about yesterday that made me think otherwise. He had our backs."

Natasha looked thoughtful. "Your collective backs, or Steve's back?"

Clint hesitated, remembering how Bucky had looked when Steve had come through on the comms. "Not sure," he admitted. "He didn't stick with him for the first part, but he did stay close to him after we'd met at the car. But, then, Steve told him to stay close, so..." He shrugged.

Natasha sighed. "I'm just worried that we'll put too much trust in him and won't know until it's too late that it's been misplaced."

"I think he'll be fine," said Clint. "Course," he added with a shrug, "I have a history of putting too much trust in assassins who're coming in from the cold."

"You were right once," said Natasha.

"Yeah," agreed Clint. "Good thing, too, or I'da missed out on an awesome best friend."

"Flatterer," she noted, not looking as if she minded. "What is it that you're worried about missing out on from Barnes, then?"

Ah, crap. She always did see more than Clint wanted her to. He did his best to look as if he had no idea what she might mean. "An awesome assassin best friend for Cap? Everyone should have one, you know."

She just hummed quietly in a disbelieving manner, before leaving him to his breakfast.

****

When Steve and Natasha disappeared off for the meeting, Bucky came out to the communal lounge, looking restless and moody. It was clear he knew exactly why they were meeting with Hill.

Clint was watching _Dog Cops_ with Wanda, who claimed to hate it but always seemed to be in the lounge when it was on. Bucky threw himself down on the sofa and stared at the screen as if he could set it on fire.

"Officer Paws is getting pretty bossy," commented Wanda.

"I reckon we're heading to her getting her comeuppance," said Clint.

Bucky let out a deep sigh, then got up again, shifting antsily on his feet for a moment before stalking off.

He was back within minutes, standing at the end of the sofa and staring down at Clint with a frown. "Do you know what they're saying about me?"

"Nope," said Clint. "Cuz, see, I'm out here and they're all in conference room three, which is the one you can't get through the air ducts to."

"Which is probably why they're using it," said Wanda.

Clint shrugged. "I'm not the one freaking out," he said, giving Bucky a bit of a smirk.

Bucky scowled and stalked off again.

"Ten bucks says he's back within five minutes," said Clint.

Wanda frowned. "It'll be closer to ten," she said. “You pissed him off by saying he was freaking out.”

"You're on," said Clint, then frowned. "Hey, no using your witchy powers to influence him, yeah?"

"Of course not," she said. Clint gave her a suspicious look.

It was four minutes and thirty seconds when Bucky came back in. "They made you write a report," he demanded.

"Hell yeah!" crowed Clint, holding his hand out to Wanda, who sighed and dug out the money.

Bucky glowered at him. "You're not taking this seriously."

"You're taking it too seriously," countered Clint. "You've got your best friend in there, no doubt defending you from every comer. You've got nothing to worry about."

Bucky did not look reassured. "What did your report say?"

Clint snorted. "Yeah, no way I can tell you that. I know it may look like SHIELD is kinda shit at secrecy, given the whole infiltrated-by-Hydra thing, not to mention the dumped-all-our-secrets-on-Twitter thing, but even we have standards. Telling the subject of a report exactly what it said is pretty much a no-no."

Bucky deflated. "Right."

“You just missed Officer Paws getting her comeuppance,” said Wanda.

Clint whipped his head around in time to see a close-up of her face, ears drooping. “Aw, come on,” he muttered. He turned back to glare at Bucky, who froze as if bracing himself for a blow. Clint could see his fingers still twitching with frustrated impatience.

“Okay,” he said, getting up. “Okay, fine. You and me, we're going to do something to get you to calm the fuck down.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Bucky, with more suspicion than Clint really thought was justified.

Clint shrugged. “You've got your gun back, right? Let's take it down to the gun range and settle the fact that I'm the better shot once and for all.”

Bucky perked up like a five-year-old who'd been told he could get ice cream. “Oh no, guns are my thing. You won't beat me.”

“Would you guys just get out of here already?” asked Wanda. “I can't hear Sergeant Whiskers's life lesson.”

Clint held up a finger. “No spoilers. I'll watch the end later.”

He nearly put his hand on Bucky's shoulder to guide him out the room, but he was still pretty twitchy and it seemed a better idea to leave him some personal space, no matter how much Clint wanted an excuse to run a hand down the line of his shoulder blades.

Clint's range wasn't set up for guns, so he took Bucky down to the indoor range where the other agents practised. There were a handful there when they walked in, most of whom looked over at Bucky with wary eyes the moment he came in.

Bucky eyed them back with just as much unease. “Maybe I shouldn't be here.”

“You're fine,” said Clint. “You're with me.” He gestured Bucky over to the far end, hoping that would be enough distance between them and the agents to avoid an incident.

“You got your piece on you?” he asked.

Bucky wordlessly pulled his gun out from where it had been tucked into the waistband at the back of his jeans. His shirt rode up enough for Clint to see a tantalising strip of muscled stomach and get another glimpse of his print and, seriously, he _had_ to stop ogling the poor guy. Bucky had enough problems without workplace harassment, or whatever it was when you didn't actually work somewhere, you were just in protective custody or whatever.

“You know, my granny always said keeping guns down your pants was a good way to shoot a buttock off,” said Clint, letting his mouth run off while he got the targets lined up in order to distract himself.

Bucky gave him an incredulous look. “Your granny?”

Clint shrugged, “Okay, you got me. I didn't know my granny, but it sounds like the kind of thing a granny would say.”

“It really doesn't,” said Bucky. “I doubt my gran used the word 'buttock' in her life.”

“Ah, what do you know?” said Clint. “You had your mind wiped.” Bucky gave him an unimpressed look and Clint shrugged a shoulder. “Too soon?”

Bucky turned to face the range. “It's fine. I'll just get over it by kicking your ass.”

“We'll see about that,” said Clint, dialling his hearing aids down as Bucky began firing. He probably should have made Bucky put on ear protectors, but he couldn't really see the Winter Soldier, veteran of a thousand shoot-outs, going for that. Well, there was a set sitting right there if he wanted them; the care and well-being of his ear-drums was his own business.

Irritatingly, it turned out that Bucky really was better than Clint at shooting. It wasn't by much, certainly not by enough to make a difference if they'd been shooting a bad guy dead, but just enough that the targets kept coming back with Bucky a fraction of an inch closer to dead centre than Clint.

“You were right,” said Bucky, cheerfully, “this is making me feel a lot better.”

Clint scowled. “A bow is the real test of skill,” he muttered. “Anyone can fire a gun.”

“Right,” said Bucky. “Like your poor buttock-less granny, right?”

“Oh, now we're talking smack about my granny? Real classy, Barnes,” said Clint.

Bucky grinned at him, twirling his gun around his finger like a cowboy in an old movie. “I tell you what, how about I give you a chance and shoot with my other hand?” He took the gun with his metal hand.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Like we don't both know you're ambidextrous.” He sniffed. “It's fine, I can handle not being the best at everything. I mean, I'm the best at most things, it would be selfish to hog all of them. And, of course, you're not the only one that's ambidextrous.”

He swapped his gun to his other hand then shot off six rounds in quick succession, clustering them all right in the centre. Nice.

Shots fired from beside him at Bucky's target, clustered just slightly closer to the centre of the target than Clint's. Figured.

He let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. You beat me. Guess it really is time for me to retire.”

There was a pause, then Bucky shot again, this time hitting right at the edge of the target, so far out that it barely clipped the paper. Clint turned to stare at him in disbelief.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe you need to hang around a bit longer. Give me some tips.”

Clint shook his head. “Idiot.”

A movement by the door caught his eye and he glanced over, more than a little relieved to have an excuse to break the moment before he could change all his plans just to stay here and let Bucky pretend he had anything left to learn about marksmanship.

Natasha had come in. She paused at the door, fixed him with a look, and signed at him. _Meeting over. We need to talk to you two now. Conference room, five minutes._

 _How did it go?_ he signed back.

 _Don't worry, we're not locking him up so you can't play with each other's weapons any more,_ she replied, gave him a smirk, and left again.

Clint turned back to Bucky, who was frowning at where Natasha had been. “Okay, we're done here,” he said. “They want us upstairs.”

“Right,” said Bucky, glancing down at his gun and taking a deep breath as if wondering why he couldn't just shoot his way out of the situation. “Okay.”

Clint clapped a hand to his shoulder. “It's gonna be fine,” he said. “She was snarking at me. She wouldn't do that if it was bad news.”

“I might be wrong, but I kinda get the feeling you two would snark at each other even if the world were ending,” said Bucky as they started to head out of the range.

Clint turned his hearing aids back up. “True, we have actually done that before.”

Bucky was silent for a moment as they headed for the elevator, then he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear his thoughts away. “Okay, so, as I definitely won that round, what do I get?”

“Oh, hey, no, we didn't agree anything like that,” protested Clint.

“I lied to Steve about that camera after the knives,” Bucky pointed out. “C'mon, it's only fair.”

Clint groaned. “Fine. What do you want?”

Bucky considered. “I don't know. I was gonna ask you to show me your knife juggling if I won then, but I got you to do that without needing to use any favours up.”

He glanced sideways at Clint as they waited for the elevator to come, a considering look in his eyes that made Clint's palms itch. For a moment, the moment hung between them, suspended, then the elevator doors opened with a ding and Bucky looked away.

“I don't know, I'm going to have to think about it,” he said.

Clint let out a long breath. “Awesome, looking forward to it.”

****

Both Steve and Hill were still in the conference room when Bucky and Clint took chairs at the table. Natasha hung back, standing with her arms crossed in a way that meant she wasn't entirely comfortable with what had been decided.

Agent Hill slid a file across the table towards Clint. “The interrogation of the captured Hydra agents has finally yielded results. We've managed to peg down the base they're running their Eastern seaboard operations from.” Clint flipped open the file to see satellite photographs of a unimaginatively square concrete base surrounded by trees.

“That's where all their intel is being gathered. We want to send in a small team to grab everything we can off their servers, then wipe them and, all going well, blow up the base as well.”

“Sounds fun,” said Clint, flicking over a page to glance over the security measures.

“I thought you'd say that,” said Hill. “You and Romanov will be on the team, of course.”

Clint grinned over his shoulder at Natasha and held out a fist for her. She rolled her eyes, but relaxed enough to bump it.

Bucky cleared his throat. “What's this got to do with me?”

Hill gave him one of her careful looks that meant she was either weighing up his worth, or contemplating getting a latte on the way home. “That depends on you,” she said. “We've discussed the matter at length, and we've decided it's impractical for matters to continue as they are.”

Bucky tensed up, metal hand clenching around the edge of his chair, where it would be hidden by the table from everyone except Clint, who probably wasn't meant to have noticed.

“She just means that we can't keep having you here as a guest,” said Steve, leaning forward. “I mean, if it was up to me, but-”

“This is the Avengers Initiative, not a motel,” said Hill, very firmly, in a way that meant they'd already had this argument and she'd won. “Even with you confined to the living quarters unless accompanied by an active Avenger, it's still a security risk, not to mention a drain on resources to have to keep someone with you.”

“Right,” said Bucky, in a voice so low it was basically a growl.

“Which means we have two options,” said Hill. “Which one we proceed with is up to you. Either you can leave the base-”

“With Hydra on his tail?” Clint couldn't help interrupting.

Hill sent him a glare that made it clear his input wasn't wanted. “We will, of course, help you find a situation where Hydra won't come after you, but it would be somewhere with the intention of settling you down and letting you get out of the-”

“No,” said Bucky. “What's option two?”

Hill glanced at Cap, who had a quiet smirk. He must have told her that Bucky wouldn't go for just getting out and hiding away from the whole business.

“The other option is that you work with us with the intention of joining the Avengers team in a full-time capacity,” said Hill.

“That,” said Bucky. “That's what I want. What hoops do you need me to jump through?”

Hill flicked Steve a look that only made him look smugger, and sighed. “We've got two main concerns. The first is that your programming will somehow reassert itself.”

“I guess it wouldn't be reassuring if I told you that was my main concern too,” said Bucky.

“Not really, no,” she said. “But we've agreed there's not a lot we can do to decrease the chances of it happening, not without more information about the process behind it.” She tapped her finger to the file. “Hence this mission. We've been told that the servers at this site include some of the project files from the Winter Soldier program. We're hoping that if we retrieve them, we'll be able to find ways to ensure you won't have a relapse, or at least to minimise the impact if you do.”

Bucky stared at the file. “Great.” He didn't even try to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Natasha let out a quiet sigh. “You know, when I first joined SHIELD and they were worried about my loyalties, they had a whole team following me at all times.”

“We had a lot more personnel back then,” said Clint. “Plus, I'm pretty sure half of them were just groupies.”

“Assassin groupies?” asked Natasha sceptically.

“Hey, it takes all sorts,” said Clint. “Agent Knightly had a collection of photos taken from the point of view of famous assassinations.”

“Knightly turned out to be Hydra,” pointed out Natasha.

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Point.”

Hill cleared her throat pointedly and Clint gave her his best 'no, I am listening, really' look. She didn't look even slightly convinced as she turned back to Bucky.

“Our second concern is that your relationship with Steve is going to skew your value in a team environment,” said Hill.

Bucky frowned. “What the hell does that mean? You realise his actual fucking soulmate is on the team already, right?”

“We're not discussing other members of the team,” said Hill. “Our concern is that Steve is the reason you came here in the first place and you have exhibited anxiety over his safety during battles. If your focus is only watching his back, we won't be able to trust you as part of the team.”

“If you want to be,” added Steve. “Bucky, no one's saying you have to do this, become an Avenger.”

Bucky sent him a hard glare. “You're an idiot, Rogers. Course I have to, and not to watch your back but because it's the right thing to do.” He took a deep breath and shrugged one shoulder as if trying to play down his next words. “I've got a lot of bad shit behind me. I need to do something that'll make me feel like I'm making up for it. Running and hiding ain't gonna do that.”

Natasha gave a little nod, then unbent from the wall to come and sit at the table. “Then we want you to be the third member of the team infiltrating the base,” she said, and Clint knew that whatever reservations she'd had were gone.

“As a test?” asked Bucky.

“Partially,” said Natasha. “It's important we get this right, though. No going off on a revenge crusade to take out every Hydra agent in the base, no losing yourself without Steve there to bring you back. We need to stick to the mission. If you don't think you can handle it-”

“I can handle it,” interrupted Bucky, pulling the file towards himself. “When do we go?”

“Tomorrow,” said Hill.

Bucky nodded. “I'll be ready.”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve came out to the quinjet pad with Bucky to see him off, which made the whole thing feel a bit like the first day of school. Clint had pulled the rest of Bucky's weapons out of storage last night and given them to him, so he was bristling with guns and knives. He was dressed in body armour that must have come from stores and a large amount of black leather which Clint was sure didn't need to be that tight. Damn it, how was he supposed to fight when he had that kind of distraction beside him? 

“Ready to go?” Clint asked, and Bucky gave him a nod. He looked tense around the eyes but his shoulders were relaxed. Clint figured that was probably the best they could hope for right now.

“Good luck,” said Steve, then hesitated and slapped a hand to Bucky's shoulder. “Come back safe.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Sure. Try not to just sit around worrying the whole time we're gone.”

“You're kidding, right?” said Steve. “It's the first full day that Sam and I will have our rooms to ourselves in ages. We're going to have lots of really noisy-”

“Okay, great,” interrupted Natasha. “Let's get going.”

Bucky climbed on board and Natasha closed the doors on Steve saying, “If you run into trouble, give us a call.”

Clint started the take-off procedures, getting them up in the air before someone could decide Bucky was too much of a delicate snowflake to be allowed out.

“Have you read the mission file?” Natasha asked Bucky.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, shortly.

“Okay,” she said. “This is how it's going to work. We're going to get in as quietly as possible. We don't want the alarm raised until we can't avoid it.”

“Yeah, I got it,” said Bucky. “I have done this before, you know.”

She ignored him. “We've got a path mapped to the server room, but it's based on old information so we may need to improvise. Once we're there, I'll steal the files then download the virus onto their system while you watch my back. Unless we run into far more trouble than I'm anticipating, Clint will go and plant the explosives, then we'll meet up, get out, and blow the place.”

“And then you get to have a beer, and Tasha and I get bogged down with all the paperwork,” added Clint.

Natasha frowned. “I don't anticipate there being that much paperwork.”

“Are you kidding? Hill had me do a full report for an unexpected skirmish, and that wasn't even officially intended as a test of Bucky's loyalty or whatever. We're going to be drowning in reports for days after this.”

“Do you think it would help if I just wrote _I'm fine_ on a bit of paper and then signed it?” asked Bucky.

“It doesn't exactly have that official edge to it,” said Clint.

Natasha sighed, sitting down in the co-pilot's seat next to Clint. “You know I'm second-in-command of the Avengers, right? We won't need to do any paperwork, it'll just be me saying 'yes, he's fine' or 'no, he lost it and ran off into the woods to massacre squirrels.'”

“Squirrels,” repeated Bucky blankly.

“Squirrel Girl would go nuts if we took on a squirrel-murderer,” said Clint. “Trust me, we don't want to piss her off.”

“Okay, now I know you're messing with me,” said Bucky.

“He's actually not,” said Natasha, “but that's not the point. The point is, we have an actual mission here. We need this intel, and we need the base neutralised. Don't get caught up on whether or not we're watching you for signs you're not stable, because we all need to keep all our attention on the job, and not on each other's potential weaknesses. And not on winding each other up.” She glared at Clint as she said that.

Clint sighed. “Yes, Ma'am.”

She made a face at him, but didn't quibble the title.

“I can do that,” said Bucky. “You'll tell me about the squirrel thing later, yeah?”

“Tony's the best person to ask about Squirrel Girl,” said Clint. “Get him to tell you the story of how she took out Doctor Doom, it's great. He does the best impression of a terrified Latverian dictator being gnawed on by rodents you'll ever hear.”

He didn't need to turn around to know that Bucky was staring at the back of his head, trying to work out if he was kidding or not. He grinned to himself.

****

The start of the mission was just as easy as Natasha had made it sound. They got into the base without raising any alarms, taking out a handful of Hydra agents soundlessly and then tucking their bodies where they hopefully wouldn't be found until later.

There was a large air vent just inside the entrance, which Clint pointed out to Natasha with hopeful eyes. She just glared at him and shook her head sharply, so he sent it a mournful look then followed her down the hallway, an arrow notched on his bowstring. Bucky ghosted behind them, one of his throwing knives clutched in his hand. If they came across someone, Clint was going to do his damnedest to shoot them before Bucky threw the knife. Just, you know, to prove a point. He wasn't sure what point, but that didn't mean it didn't need proving.

They heard voices coming their way before they saw anyone, and Natasha gestured for them to hide rather than engage. They ducked inside a small, darkened room and stood as quietly as possible as two men went past.

"Rick's problem is that he thinks he's in charge just because he's been here longer," one of them was saying.

"His problem is that he's a prick," returned the other one. "And he never washes his fucking coffee mug up; just leaves it in the sink. Drives me nuts."

It was nice to know that some work problems were universal. The voices passed by and they crept back out again, following the route that most likely led to the server room. They had to hide twice more from passing Hydra agents, but Clint didn't think they were patrols. Everyone that passed them seemed really relaxed, as if the idea of being infiltrated hadn't even occurred to them. He wondered how long this base had been here, hidden in the woods in the middle of Pennsylvania, without anyone having the faintest idea. God, he really hated Hydra.

It was almost a relief when they got to the server room and found it was right next door to a break room that contained at least 5 agents, all of them armed. There was another one outside the server room, lounging against the wall in the manner of a man who'd been given a guard post where he knew nothing ever happened. Well, they were about to prove him wrong on that one.

Clint could see a couple of figures through the window of the server room, but they looked more like IT technicians than fighters, so hopefully they wouldn't create any problems.

Natasha gestured them back from the corner and fixed them both with a stern gaze. "We do this quickly and quietly," she said in an undertone. "We need to keep them from sounding the alarm."

Easier said than done, but hopefully the guys who were just getting coffee wouldn't have earpieces in. The guy actually on guard would have to be the first target.

They all rushed out from around the corner at the same time, Clint shooting off an arrow that went straight through the guy's neck at the same time as Bucky threw one of his knives, catching the guy closest to the door of the break room in the shoulder. There were shouts from inside the room, then a hilarious moment where they all tried to get out of the door at the same time, during which Clint was able to pick off another one before Bucky rushed in to punch another in the face, metal hand smashing his nose in with a spray of blood. He grabbed his knife out of his first agent's shoulder at the same time, then disappeared inside the room. Natasha followed him a moment later, wrists sparking as she electrocuted a guy.

Clint hung back, arrow notched, to make sure none of them got away but there wasn't much need. Between them, Bucky and Natasha took them all out without a single shot being fired. Clint wasn't even sure the guys inside the server room noticed anything was going on, at least not until he stepped inside, arrow pointed at the nearest.

"On your knees," he said. There were two of them, both wearing shirts and ties rather than body armour, and they looked a bit like they were going to piss themselves, especially when Bucky came in behind him. Apparently, the presence of the Winter Soldier was terrifying for everyone, even if he'd been on your side for the last few decades.

"Bucky, get all the bodies inside the break room and lock them in there," said Natasha, following him in. "Then keep an eye out for me while I get the files."

Bucky nodded and slid off.

Natasha bound and gagged the technicians while Clint kept them covered.

"If you guys are cool here," he said, once she was done, "I'm gonna-" He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

She nodded. "Be back here in ten, or by the exit in fifteen. Keep in contact."

"Always," said Clint, heading out. He had four charges to set and a rough idea of the best places to lay them to bring the whole base down, he could easily do that in ten minutes.

He nodded at Bucky as he went and got a rather blank, robot-like look back. That probably wasn't good; he was meant to be avoiding slipping back into the Winter Soldier mindset. Clint spun around as he walked away and gave him the flirtiest wink he could manage. Bucky gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise followed by a glare, which, okay, Clint hadn't really thought he'd flirt back but at least he didn't look like a brain-washed killer any more.

Clint had already laid three charges when Natasha announced, over the comms, that she was done and she and Bucky were moving out.

"I'll meet you at the exit in two," said Clint. "Just got the last one to do."

He put the last charge on the outside wall of the armoury, which would hopefully cause a secondary explosion when the munitions went up. He was setting the timer when the door of the armoury opened and two agents walked out.

Ah, crap.

They froze at the sight of him but not for long enough, hands going straight to holsters as they started shouting for back-up. Clint had slung his bow over his shoulder so that he could set the charge, where it was no damned use to him now. He threw himself sideways, aiming to get back around the corner before they could shoot him.

He just about made it, a bullet grazing past his head as he took cover, but he wasn't in a great position. The corridor he was in was a dead end, containing nothing more than a couple of locked doors. He pulled his bow off his shoulder and notched two arrows, bracing himself and taking a moment to breath just before the Hydra agents came around the corner, guns blasting. He let the arrows fly, hitting one right in the chest, but the other only in the arm. Eh, good enough. It made him stop firing and drop back, at any rate.

Just as Clint was thinking that he might make it out of this, he heard more feet thundering towards him, and then an alarm started to sound. Ah, crap.

"Bad news, Tasha," he said. "I've been spotted."

"Yeah, we got that," she said. "Need a rescue?"

Three agents came around the corner before he could react. He shot one of them, then threw himself into the fray, smashing one across the face with his bow before grabbing an arrow and stabbing it into another, sweeping around with a kick that brought the one he'd shoot in the arm earlier crashing down. He managed to get an arrow notched and shot the one he'd hit with his bow before he could recover.

"Nah, I'm fine," he said. He ducked back around the corner to see the corridor clear and took his chance, heading back past the armoury in the direction of the exit. "On my way to you now."

"We're keeping the exit clear," said Natasha, and he could hear the sounds of a fight in the background. "You might want to get here sooner rather than later, though."

"Yeah," agreed Clint, thinking of the charges he'd planted, all counting down towards an explosion.

A troop of four agents jogged around the corner and he cursed, even as he was shooting the lead one. Apparently this place did have proper security. That was irritating. If he was going to have to battle his way through regular patrols to get out, this was going to take longer than he had. 

He didn't stop running as he pulled out another arrow and shot a second one, dodging as they started shooting and then throwing himself at the two still standing.

They were better fighters than the last lot had been and he took a blow to the shoulder from the butt of a gun that landed straight on the bruise he had from the fight in Brooklyn. Fucking _ow_. He ducked low under a knife that scrapped across his body armour before he managed to take them both out.

"Any time you feel like it, Hawkeye," said Natasha, sounding anxious.

"Yeah, yeah," he panted, setting off towards the exit again. "Keep your pants on."

"Do you need us to come to you?" asked Bucky, and Clint realised that was the first time he'd heard his voice on the comms. He probably wasn't used to having them, if he'd only ever worked alone.

"Nah, I'm nearly there," said Clint, which, of course, was when another three agents came out of a side room, including one face Clint could have done with never seeing again.

"Hawkeye!" said Rumlow, with great glee.

"You fucking traitor," spat Clint, firing an arrow that Rumlow ducked.

"You can't fight progress," said Rumlow, shooting at him as Clint took out one of the other agents with another arrow. The bullet clipped the end of Clint's bow and pinged off, and then Rumlow was right there and Clint was engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with one of the best fighters Hydra had. Shit.

Rumlow knocked Clint's bow out of his hand and kicked him hard in the kneecap, making his leg buckle. Clint darted back a couple of steps as he pulled a knife out, then ducked under a punch and struck at Rumlow's arm.

"Clint, we need to leave," said Natasha down the comms.

"Yep," grunted out Clint as Rumlow threw him into a wall. "Working on it."

He rolled away from the wall, aiming to grab his bow as he got up, but Rumlow was too quick, bringing a heavy, booted foot down on Clint's wrist as he reached for it. There was a blinding surge of pain as bone cracked, and Clint couldn't keep in a cry.

"Clint?!" he heard Natasha say down the comms, but he didn't have it in him to reply just then.

Christ, he really was getting old. He used to be able to go up against guys like Rumlow and hold his own, but now it felt like every move he made was just too slow.

“Clint! I need to know you're okay,” demanded Natasha.

“All peachy,” he gritted out.

Rumlow snorted. "Pathetic," he muttered, then drew back and kicked Clint in the ribs. "How the hell did you end up an Avenger? It should have been me."

Clint gritted his teeth and rolled so he could slash at Rumlow's leg with his knife, carving a deep cut across his calf. "You're a bad guy," he reminded him as Rumlow staggered back. "Also, you're not pretty enough."

He tried to get up and away before Rumlow could recover, but wasn't quick enough. Rumlow kicked at his face while he was still on his hands and knees. Clint tried to duck, but the toe of Rumlow's boot caught the side of his head, kicking his hearing aid out of his ear. Everything on the left went silent.

At that moment, Bucky appeared, pelting around the corner like the most beautiful, leather-clad angel Clint had ever seen. He growled when he saw Rumlow and fired at him, not slowing his pace for a moment as he ploughed into him, forcing him away from Clint.

Clint took a moment to breathe then got up, grabbing his bow with his good hand and slinging it across his back. No way in hell he was going to be able to fire it now, with his wrist throbbing with pain.

"The Asset," growled Rumslow as Bucky glared at him, and then he spat out a series of syllables that were either in a foreign language Clint didn't recognise, or were nonsense.

Bucky froze. The glare fell off his face as if someone had wiped over it and he pulled himself up to stand at attention.

Rumlow laughed. "Oh man, I'm going to get such a bonus for bringing you back in."

Clint wasn't having that. He might not be able to shoot his bow any more, but he only needed one hand to throw a knife. He pulled out one of his shiny new throwing knives and sent it at Rumlow, hitting him solidly in the shoulder. He choked and fell back against the wall.

"Bucky!" Clint called. "C'mon, snap out of it, Bucky. You're not that guy any more." He searched his mind, trying to remember how he'd got him back before. "You're helping Steve out now. Steve Rogers, you told him you'd come back, remember?"

Rumlow laughed, clutching at his shoulder. "That's not going to work, Clint. The Asset-"

Bucky's metal arm came out and caught him around the throat. "My name," he growled, "is Bucky."

"Oh, thank god," breathed Clint. "Bucky, we need to go."

Bucky tightened his hand and Rumlow batted at his hand, trying to suck in air and failing.

"Bucky!" called Clint. "Come on!"

"Guys," said Natasha over the comms. "I've still got the exit, but we really need to move."

Bucky gave Rumlow one last glare, then tossed him to one side and turned away. Clint let out a sigh of relief and they started to jog down the corridor together, Clint cradling his arm against his chest and really, really hoping they were done fighting for now. Everything hurt.

They got to the exit to find Natasha waiting for them, glaring. "Not everything has to be last minute," she snapped.

Clint shrugged, then winced when it pulled on his bruised ribs. "Just trying to inject some drama."

She opened the door and they dashed out, heading for the woods where they'd hidden the quinjet. "Drama is over-rated," she said. "I liked it when everything was so calm as to be boring."

They made it to the treeline just as the first charge blew, sending a fireball up into the sky and a shock wave that nearly made Clint miss a step. A moment later the other three charges went up, and then there was a follow-up explosion that Clint figured must have been the armoury. At least that part of the plan went well.

They all paused to look back at the shattered base. "Rumlow was in there," he said to Natasha, which made her smile. A second thought came to him, and he groaned. "Oh man, and so was one of my new knives."

"Maybe you should try being grateful that you weren't as well," said Bucky.

"Yeah, sure," said Clint. "Just...new knife. And one of my aids," he remembered. “That's going to piss Tony off, he just gave me that set.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's get back to base. You look like you need to go to medical."

Clint opened his mouth to deny it, then glanced down at his wrist and made a face. "Yeah, probably." Now that the adrenalin was wearing off, it was really starting to throb with pain. He had a nasty feeling that he wasn't going to be using his bow for a while.

“Aw, man,” he remembered. “And Rumlow shot my bow.”

Bucky huffed out a sigh. “And fucked up your wrist,” he pointed out.

Clint shrugged. “That'll heal. I'm gonna have to get a whole new bow.”

Natasha flew them back while Clint dug out a couple of painkillers from the medkit that he was pretty sure weren't going to do anything. Bucky sat and watched him, his back very straight and his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He didn't look great, and Clint remembered the way he'd locked up when Rumlow had spoken to him.

"Thanks for rocking up when you did," said Clint. “Good timing.”

Bucky stared at him. "You screamed," he said, as if that was an explanation.

Clint winced. "Okay, no, that was a manly cry, it was not a scream."

"It was a scream," put in Natasha. "I thought a six-year-old girl had had her favourite doll taken away from her."

"You guys suck," muttered Clint.

Steve was waiting when they landed, which Clint thought was hilarious.

"Look, Daddy came to pick you up," he sniggered. Okay, maybe the painkillers had had an effect.

Bucky glanced out the window as Natasha landed them and made a face.

"Are you-" he said, then took a breath, and added, in a quieter voice, "are you going to tell him? About- about Rumlow stopping me?"

Clint blinked at him. He hadn't even thought about it, but now he did, he could see that that was just the kind of thing Hill was waiting to happen. He really should mention it, but the look in Bucky's eyes, the fear that he was about to lose his chance because of one moment was enough to stop him. Rumlow was a dick, he shouldn't be allowed to stop Bucky getting what he wanted. Besides, he'd shaken it off pretty quickly.

"Nah," he said. "You came back, didn't you?"

Bucky let out a long breath. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Thanks."

"I totally don't owe you a favour any more, though," said Clint. "We're even."

"Okay," said Bucky. "I can live with that." He glanced out the window again. “I won't even mention the saving-your-life thing.”

Clint scoffed. “I had him. I totally had him. I was just waiting for the right moment.”

“Sure,” said Bucky. “Of course.” For some reason he didn't sound as if he believed Clint at all.

****

Steve took one look at Clint and made him go straight to medical, where he was poked and prodded for a bit before the doctor announced he had bruised ribs and a hairline fracture of the ulna. He'd need to be benched for at least two months and on light duties for a month or so after that.

“You'll have a cast for a month,” she said, “during which time you absolutely must not use your bow. Do you hear me? After that, you should be able to _slowly_ start to use it again.”

“Guess that was my last mission, then,” said Clint. “I'll be retired by then.”

She snorted. “Half the guys I see say they're going to retire. Then I see them right back here a year or two later.”

Clint shook his head. “Nah, I'm done. Time to move on.”

“Right,” she said sceptically.

She gave him some pain pills with a strict admonishment not to over-do them, then let him go. He made it back up to his room and got out of his gear, setting his bow down and rubbing his thumb over the crack that Rumlow's bullet had left in it. Yeah, she was going to have to go to the great range in the sky, or wherever it was that broken bows went to. Ah well, he had a whole month to get a new one.

He wanted a shower but had to settle for a brief wash around his dressings. The bruise on his shoulder had come up in some really impressive colours, and there was another on the line of his jaw by his ear, where Rumlow had kicked him. Between those, the bandages around his ribs and the cast, he looked like shit.

“You're too old for this,” he told his reflection. Hearing it in only one ear made him scowl and pull out his remaining hearing aid. At least that way he was balanced.

He thought about heading out to the kitchen in search of food, but he felt too battered to bother. Instead, he crashed out on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around himself and telling himself he was just taking a nap before dinner.

Like an old man. An old, deaf, battered man.

Definitely time to retire.

****

He didn't make it to dinner. He slept straight through and woke up to the lights flashing to let him know there was someone outside his door.

Everything ached, every bone, every muscle, every bruise, and his wrist and ribs hurt twice as much as everything else. He groaned, blinking his eyes at the clock to see that it was coming up to nine o'clock. 

He called out, in what he hoped was a loud enough voice to be heard through the door, “It's open, please don't make me get up.”

The door opened and Bucky stepped inside, holding a plate and looking awkward. “Hi.”

Clint started to pull himself upright then gave up when all it did was make his ribs complain. “Hi.”

If there was anything worse than being caught in an exhausted, beat-up heap, it was being caught in an exhausted, beat-up heap by the super-soldier you had a crush on. Bucky had obviously had a shower and was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that showed off just how _healthy_ his physique was. He looked awake and alert in a way Clint felt like he could only dream about right now.

“I've not got my ears in,” said Clint, as a warning.

Bucky nodded, hesitating again before he appeared to pull himself together and come in further, shutting the door behind him. “You missed dinner, so I brought you a sandwich.”

“Oh my god,” said Clint. “You are the best person.”

That was worth struggling upright for. He dragged himself up, one-handed, then took the plate from Bucky and clung on to it for a moment.

When he looked back up, Bucky was finishing saying something.

“... should eat.”

“Sorry, missed that,” said Clint, doing his best to keep his attention off the food long enough to catch the whole sentence.

“I said, I figured you'd be on painkillers, and that meant you should eat,” repeated Bucky. “Romanov said you're not always great at taking care of yourself when you're injured.”

“Takes one to know one,” said Clint, tucking into the sandwich with gusto. “She's terrible. That time you shot her, I had to practically cuff her to the sofa to stop her hunting you down while she had a hole in her gut.”

He looked up to see a stricken look on Bucky's face. Oh right, maybe not mentioning the time he shot a team-mate would have been a better idea. Wow, Clint really needed to just sew his mouth up or something.

“I shot her?” repeated Bucky.

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Somewhere in Ukraine, I think, about six years ago? She was trying to protect a nuclear engineer you were after?”

Bucky just stared at him. “I don't-” he said, then something else too mumbly for Clint to read. He sucked in a deep breath. “No wonder she was avoiding me when I first got here.”

“You don't remember that at all?” asked Clint.

Bucky shook his head. “Not everything's back, you know. In fact, most of it's not. I'm kinda glad, I don't want to remember shooting her.”

He dropped his head into his hands, scrubbing at his forehead. If he said anything, Clint missed it.

“She understands,” he said. “She gets that it's not on you. Hell, even if you weren't brainwashed, she understands what it is to have a mission and for collateral to not be a concern.”

Bucky nodded and looked up. “Yeah,” he said. “Doesn't meant it's not freaky to suddenly find out you shot someone you've been living with for weeks.”

Clint wanted to reach out and touch his hand, tell him that it was all fine now because he was getting himself back and that was all anyone could ask, but he had a cast on one hand and a sandwich in the other, and Bucky didn't need him getting inappropriate with him anyway.

“Tell you what,” he said instead, “you can do me a favour. Rhodey's back in a week or less and even if he wasn't, I'm pretty much benched now until I leave. I'm not going to have her back anymore, so you'll have to keep an eye on her for me.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He stared at his hands for a bit and Clint concentrated on downing the sandwich while Bucky pulled himself back together.

“You know,” said Bucky, “I'm gonna miss you.” He looked up, through strands of hair hanging loose and gave Clint a rueful, twisted smile. “First time in decades I've actually made a new friend, and you're going off and leaving me.”

Oh man. Clint shoved down his sudden desperate desire to change all his plans and stay an Avenger forever. Or, well, until he died, which wouldn't be long at the rate he was going. He took a deep breath, swallowing back his other strong urge, the one to just throw himself at Bucky and kiss his face off. 

“I'll be back,” he said. “You can't think I'm not going to be popping by every so often to make sure you know I'm a better shot. And once I've got the farm all fixed up, I'm thinking I'll invite the guys out for a barbecue or something.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Except, uh, I thought we'd already proved I was a better shot?”

“Nope,” said Clint. “We proved you're a better shot with a gun. A handgun – we didn't try rifles, and we didn't compare you on your best weapon to me on mine. No one's better than me when I've got a bow in my hand.”

Bucky grinned. “Sounds like we've got a lot more competitions ahead of us. You're right, you will have to keep coming back.”

“Damn straight,” said Clint, nodding for emphasis and then wincing when the sudden motion made, well, made everything hurt. Oh man, he was so broken.

Bucky eyed him. “Are you going to make it to bed, or are you just going to crash on the sofa all night?”

“I'll make it to bed,” said Clint, relaxing back now the sandwich was gone. “Just, gimme a minute.”

Bucky sighed and took the plate from him. “Let me help you?”

“I'm fine,” said Clint. 

“Right,” said Bucky. “Have you even seen yourself?”

Clint remembered what the mirror had shown him and winced. Right, okay, that definitely killed the desire to kiss Bucky, knowing he looked like an invalid. Didn't mean he needed helping to bed, though.

“If you want to help, you can get my pills from the bathroom,” he said, forcing himself to sit up, then taking a moment before he stood. Oh man, bed was going to feel so good, he just had to get there.

Bucky frowned at him but got up and headed off to the bathroom, leaving Clint to go through the humiliating process of standing up on his own. He stumbled into his bedroom and collapsed into bed. Bucky came in a moment later and Clint flopped over onto his back so that he could see him.

“Do you need water?” Bucky asked, holding the pills out.

Clint just snorted, took the pills and downed two without even sitting up. “Whatever you say about my lifestyle, it means I've got good at swallowing pills.”

“Well, there's a useful life skill,” said Bucky. He hovered for a moment. “Do you need anything else?”

Clint shook his head, already feeling sleep creeping up on him again. “Nope, all good.”

Bucky nodded and turned to go, which was probably good, no matter how much Clint wanted him to just crawl into bed beside him and put his arms around him.

“Hey, Bucky?” he said as Bucky turned the light out. “Thanks.”

Bucky gave him a nod and left him to sleep. Clint let his eyes shut, telling himself yet again that once he'd moved to the farm, he'd have plenty of time to get over this stupid crush.

****

Clint dug out his spare set of aids the next morning, then spent most of the next few days either asleep or vegging on the couch where he didn't really need them. His bruises went through a wide variety of colours, most of them tinged purple so at least they fitted with his aesthetic.

The first couple of nights, the painkillers knocked Clint out so that he slept right through to nearly lunchtime without a single dream, which was nice but it left him very groggy for most of the day, which he didn't like. He might not use it much, but he did like to feel like his brain was at least capable of functioning.

He started cutting down on the pills which, of course, meant he woke up at 2am with a start that pulled on his ribs, terror flooding through his mind. He took several deep breaths, then screwed his eyes shut in the hope of wiping away the images of his father and Rumlow working in concert to break as many of his bones as they could. Jesus, if he ever needed proof that his subconscious wasn't all that deep, then the complete lack of subtlety in his nightmares was it.

He pulled himself upright and sat for a minute or two, but it was obvious he wasn't going to be going back to sleep until he'd somehow cleared his mind. One day, he'd work out how to just roll over and go back to sleep, but apparently not tonight.

He got up and headed for the kitchen, hoping that a glass of water and a change of scenery would be enough to let him go back to sleep.

The kitchen was dark so Clint flicked on the light, and then nearly had a heart attack when there was a dark figure sitting at the table.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he said, pressing his hand to his chest. "Do you do this on purpose?"

Bucky shrugged. "Sorry." He glanced at Clint's ears and Clint realised he was checking for his aids.

"I'm deaf," he said. “You okay? You're all, you know, you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah,” he said, then his chest rose in what looked like a sigh and he added something in a mumble that Clint couldn't interpret.

“You'll have to repeat that,” he said.

Bucky glanced up and then just shook his head.

There were very few things Clint hated more than that. If what Bucky'd had to say was okay for a hearing person to listen to, then it should be okay for him to repeat so that the deaf guy could keep up.

Clint didn't bother saying anything though, he just headed for the sink. It was late and he was tired and cranky, and not at his best. 

"I just need some water, then I'll leave you to your brooding in the dark."

He poured himself a glass of water and then turned to face Bucky as he drank it. Bucky was staring at him, clearly waiting for him to be looking before he said, "I'm not brooding."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Right," he said, sceptically. "You're just sitting alone in the dark because...?"

Bucky shrugged. "Same reason you need a glass of water from in here, when you've got a perfectly good bathroom right next to your bedroom."

Ah. Busted. Clint took a sip of water and tried to look unconcerned that he was so obvious. "You remember more shit?"

"I don't know," said Bucky, shoulders slumping. He stared down at the table and went mumbly again, making it tricky for Clint to catch what he was saying. "I can't al-#-s tell what's memory # what's # #-dom crap dredged # by # mind."

Clint made a face as he ran back through that to get the meaning. Being confused about what was memory and what was nightmare must suck. "I guess, at least I know exactly how much of mine was real. Too much of it."

Bucky glanced up at him. "Same thing as last time?" he asked, and Clint remembered sitting on a sofa with him, actually letting the truth about his nightmares slip out. Man, he should have known then that this thing with Bucky would be trouble. He never trusted anyone that quickly.

"Yeah, it's pretty much always the same thing. Nothing imaginative about my demons."

Clint shrugged and took another sip of water, hoping he came off as unconcerned. From the look Bucky gave him, he'd failed. He'd just add it to the impressively long list of Clint Barton's failures.

"Do you get them a lot?" Bucky asked.

Clint shook his head. "Nah, probably not even once a month." Well, maybe a bit more than that, but who was counting? "I reckon it's just being a bit bashed up has prompted it."

Bucky's frown deepened. "Breaking your arm? Did he-?" he started, then cut himself off, clearly realising he was asking too many personal questions. "It's fucking shit," he said, instead.

"Yeah," agreed Clint. "There were no broken bones, it wasn't that bad. Just bruises."

Bucky sent him an unimpressed look. "And your hearing."

Okay, that was a point, but that had mostly been an accident. And, crap, Clint was making excuses for his bastard father, damn it, he wasn't meant to do that.

"That came back," he pointed out. "Well, at least it did until I decided that being at the centre of an explosion was a good plan." He downed the last of his water, thinking that talking about this wasn't actually going to help him get back to sleep.

"Still sucks," said Bucky. "Parents should be better than that."

There was a look on his face as he said it that made Clint hesitate before turning to wash up his glass. "How much do you remember about yours?"

Bucky was silent for a long moment. "Enough," he said, eventually, and he'd gone back to failing to shape his words clearly. Clint focused on his mouth, thinking that he was way too tired for this. "I #-member Mom be-# busy all # time, chasing aft-# # kids, do-# all the housework, # Dad just watch-# with a bottle # # hand."

That explained Steve's comment about Prohibition when they'd been in Brooklyn. Clint mentally added Bucky to the list of Avengers with fucking miserable childhoods, then wondered what it meant that there were way more in that column than the other one.

"Sucks," he offered. "Seems like family is usually more of a hassle than anything else."

Bucky nodded, then shrugged one shoulder. "#-# all dead now, #-way. Even my sisters. Steve said I-# got a handful # nephew and nieces, but they're all # least twenty years old-# than me. Half of # have kids of # own." He shook his head. "Fucking nuts."

"Yeah, okay, that's weird," said Clint. "You thinking about meeting up with them?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him and, thank fuck, apparently his attitude towards that idea was enough to make him talk properly. Or Clint was finally able to click his brain into being awake enough to read his lips, either way he caught the whole thing. 

"Yeah, that seems like a terrible idea. 'Oh, hey, I'm your uncle. I'm both older and younger than you, and I've got a kill count stretching back over seventy years. How about introducing me to your kids?'"

Clint snorted. "Yeah, okay, maybe not phrase it exactly like that."

Bucky shook his head. "Not phrasing it any way. They've done well enough without me and it's not like I know any of them. I've got Steve if I #-# I need #-ny family."

Okay, Clint was officially way too tired for this. "Yeah, I got Tasha. She's way more reliable than any of my actual family were." 

He needed to either go and get his aids, or go back to bed, and the fuzziness crowding the edges of his mind made it clear which was the better choice. He turned towards the sink and washed his glass, then looked back at Bucky. 

"I'm going back to bed. You gonna be okay?"

Bucky waved a hand. "Fine."

Clint wasn't sure he believed him but there didn't seem anything else he could do. He went back to bed, shut his eyes, and forced himself not to think about anything to do with his family.

And if the thoughts that came instead were about a guy who was probably still brooding in the kitchen, well, it's not like Clint's fantasies did anyone any harm.

****

Natasha came by to hang out with Clint a few times over the next few days, and most of the others popped in at least once to keep him company, but Clint didn't see Bucky again until Friday afternoon, when he and Steve both swung by.

"Hill's agreed to put Bucky officially on the roster," said Steve.

"Oh, hey," said Clint. "Congrats, man. I'd high five you, but I'm kinda broken, so..."

"I think I can live without that," said Bucky.

"If you're sure," said Clint. "I mean, we could get Cap to high five you for me?"

"No, we couldn't," said Steve. "The other news is that we've officially been informed that Rhodey will be returning tomorrow."

"So you'll have a full roster, plus a shiny new sniper," said Clint. He took a deep breath. "Yeah, okay then. Guess this is me officially resigning, then."

"You don't have to," said Steve. "You could just take a leave of absence for a bit, leave it open to come back."

Clint shook his head. "No, I'm done. That's it. I'm an ex-Avenger."

"No, never," said Steve, giving him one of his earnest looks that Clint really had to work out how to fight one day. "Once an Avenger, always an Avenger, even if you're retired. You'll always be welcome on the team."

Clint nodded, trying to pretend he wasn't getting emotional. "Thanks, Cap."

Oh man, if he was getting a lump in his throat from this, how bad was it going to be when he finally left for the farm? He was going to sob like a kid.

He cleared his throat. "We doing movie night tonight?" he asked, changing the subject in possibly the least subtle way ever.

Steve nodded. "Barring a call-out before then, of course."

"Sam suggested we ordered take out," said Bucky.

Clint perked up. "Man, I could really go for some Chinese."

"Spring rolls," agreed Bucky.

Steve sighed. "This is going to end with me having to go collect it again, isn't it?"

Bucky slapped a hand on his shoulder. "That's basically what we keep you around for, yeah."

"That's not entirely true," said Clint. "He's also useful for heavy lifting."

"Not really something I need help with," said Bucky, raising his metal hand and splaying the fingers.

"Show off," said Clint.

****

Being injured meant getting first choice of seating for movie night, so Clint got himself settled in the corner of the best sofa, ribs carefully propped up with a cushion.

"What're we watching?" he asked.

Sam glanced at Steve and shrugged. "I don't think we've decided on anything yet."

He and Steve had settled on the other sofa, with Wanda perched beside them on the arm.

"What was that film Tony mentioned the other day?” asked Steve. "If we haven't watched it by the time he comes back, you know he'll sulk."

" _The Princess Bride_ ," said Clint, and glanced at Sam, raising an eyebrow.

Sam shrugged. "Been a while since I saw it."

Bucky sat down next to Clint, which Clint had to firmly tell himself didn't mean anything other than that there were a limited amount of free seats. "Is that the one that had something to do with me?"

Clint and Sam exchanged another look. "Ah..." said Sam. “Maybe-”

"You worry too much," said Natasha, bringing popcorn in with her and taking the only individual armchair, where Clint couldn't steal popcorn from her. Rude. "Put it on."

Vision also joined them for movie night, but he usually just hovered at the back where he could watch them as much as the film. Clint always got the feeling that he was using them as some sort of study into the bizarre social behaviours of the human animal, which he didn't mind as long as he never heard the conclusions. The last thing he needed was to hear a dissection of his reaction every time Bucky shifted next to him, his leg pressing against Clint's for a moment before moving away.

When they got to the scene Tony had referenced, in which Inigo Montoya confronted the man who had killed his father, Bucky went very, very still, then huffed out an almost-silent laugh.

"This is what you guys were worried about? If Stark had gone off on one like that, I'da just thought he'd lost it."

"Stark lost it years ago," said Natasha. "I mean, it wouldn't have been the weirdest thing he's ever done."

"You know, I'm thinking a guy with a metal arm is easier to track down than a guy with six fingers," said Clint.

Natasha sent him a glare. "Yeah, I thought that too, then I actually tried it."

"I can vouch for it being pretty tricky," added Steve.

Bucky grinned. "What can I say? I'm stealthy as fuck."

"You told me you were getting drunk in motels," Clint pointed out. "That's hardly stealthy."

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe Captain America and Black Widow are just shit then."

Natasha threw popcorn at him, some of which landed on Clint.

"Awesome," he said, eating it. "Hey, insult her again, will you?"

"The next thing I throw will be significantly heavier," she said in dark tones.

"Okay, maybe leave it for now," said Clint.

Everyone stuck around after the film ended, chatting about nothing. Clint talked Wanda into getting him a beer so he didn't have to stand up, then settled into a relaxed, contented puddle as the alcohol interacted with his painkillers. Bucky stayed next to him and they discussed all the different projectile weaponry they'd need to compete with before they could definitively say who the best shot was.

"Sling shots," said Bucky. "You ever used one of those?"

Clint snorted. "I knew you were old, I didn't realise you'd fought Goliath."

"You fight with a bow and arrow," Bucky pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "You're really going to mock me over ancient weaponry?"

"Archery is timeless," said Clint, waving a hand carelessly close to Bucky's face. "It transcends all other art forms."

"Art forms," repeated Bucky, amused.

"Fuck yeah," said Clint. "You ever seen a proper master doing trick shots? It's a thing of beauty."

"Nope," said Bucky, "cuz you haven't shown me any trick shots."

"I will," said Clint, "as soon as I'm all fixed up, I'll blow your mind."

"Will you?" asked Bucky, raising an eyebrow, and Clint realised that, once again, he was coming perilously close to flirting with him. Damn it, he needed to get a lid on that.

"Well, I am freaking awesome," he said, and glanced over at the clock. "I should go to bed."

"Can you even get up?" asked Natasha.

Clint shifted, winced as the movement pulled on his ribs, and stayed where he was, slumped into the corner of the sofa. "Sure, of course. Totally not a problem."

Bucky snorted, then stood up with an annoying amount of ease. He held out his hand. "Come on, I'll help. It's what team members are for, right?"

"I'm not on the team any more," said Clint, wondering how many times he was going to have to say that before it sank in. He reached out to take Bucky's arm, clasping his hand around his hoodie sleeve as Bucky took his forearm and pulled him up, out of the sofa.

The moment Bucky's fingers clasped Clint's skin, a shot of heat erupted in his arm, surprising Clint enough that instead of standing up, he staggered forward, half-falling into Bucky's body with shock. The fingers of the arm that was in a cast reached out automatically to steady himself and grazed against Bucky's side, where his hoodie was hanging open and his t-shirt had ridden up. The tip of Clint's forefinger burnt red-hot as it touched Bucky's skin, right over his soulprint.

"Holy shit," Clint muttered.

Bucky pulled away from him, leaving Clint to find his own balance. His eyes were wide with shock and he was staring at Clint as if he'd never seen anything like him before. There was a long heartbeat as Clint stared back, trying to get his head around what had just happened, then Bucky spun on his heel and ran out.

"What the hell was that?" asked Wanda.

"Did you guys just activate?!" said Sam. Clint looked down at his arm, where his print was now standing out against his skin in dark lines. Holy shit, he'd just activated. He had a soulmate.

"Fuck," he said. Steve got up and followed after Bucky, barely sparing Clint a glance as he rushed out.

"Seriously?" asked Natasha incredulously. "You guys haven't touched skin before now? You've been living in the same base, not to mention hanging out together, for weeks!"

Clint shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He was very aware of everyone's scrutiny, of the tingle on his finger where he'd touched Bucky's print - _activated_ his print - and the warm glow spreading out from his own print.

"I'm gonna-" he said, but didn't bother finishing his sentence in his rush to get out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint didn't go back to his rooms. Instead, he climbed up to the place on the roof where he went when he needed a moment to himself. It wasn't easy to get up there with bruised ribs and a broken arm, but he barely felt the pain through the maelstrom of thoughts rushing through his head.

Once up there, he sat down with his legs hanging over the edge and stared out at the dark forest, stars glimmering above.

Holy fucking shit, his soulmate was the Winter Soldier.

The _Winter fucking Soldier_.

What the fuck was he meant to do with that?

He wasn't sure how long he was up there before Natasha dropped down beside him. They both stared out at the night for a while, then she let out a gentle sigh.

"I know you're freaking out, but this is a good thing, you know."

"The Winter Soldier," said Clint, which was basically all he'd been able to think since he'd got up there.

"Bucky Barnes," corrected Natasha.

"Who was born in 1917," pointed out Clint.

"He looks damn good for it, though," said Natasha. "Come on, we both know you've been crushing on him for a while, how's this-"

"There is a huge difference between thinking a guy is hot and wanting to be bonded to them for life," said Clint. "I mean - I'm retiring, Tasha. He's just starting out. Not to mention, you know, his brain's kinda screwy still."

"Bruce retired and I stayed on," she pointed out. "And Bucky always seems a lot better when he's around you. He's getting himself back, and you've been helping."

Clint shook his head. "Don't- I can't take logic and common sense right now. I just need to freak out for a bit, okay?"

She let out a sigh, and he sent a sideways glance. "You can't tell me you didn't freak out when you activated with the Hulk."

She was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, okay," she said, staring out over the trees. "I didn't have my best friend there to talk me through it, though."

Clint bumped his shoulder against hers and they sat in silence for a while. He could feel his mind starting to calm down but being able to string more than one thought together didn't make him feel any better about the whole thing.

"Do you know how Bucky's doing?" he asked, almost reluctantly.

She shook her head. "Steve's with him, I think."

Clint nodded. That was for the best. Steve was his best friend, he'd be able to sort him out.

"Of course, you know you can find out exactly how he's doing right now," said Natasha.

Clint made a face, looking down at the dark lines of his print. "Feels like intruding," he said, but his finger was itching.

She shook her head. "It's just a glimpse through a window."

The fingerprint on Clint's arm stood out so darkly against his skin that he could see it even in the dim light cast by the various spotlights around the building and the faint shimmer of moonlight. That was Bucky's fingerprint. If he lined Bucky's finger up with the mark, they'd match exactly, a permanent sign of how important and life-changing it had been for them to meet.

He gently pressed his own finger against the mark, like he'd watched other people do for his whole life while wondering exactly what it felt like.

It wasn't anything like he'd feared. He wasn't drowned out in a tangle of someone else's thoughts and feelings, instead a door opened in the back of his mind, letting in a gentle flow of Bucky's emotions.

"Oh," he heard himself say.

Bucky was even more of a confused mess than he was. Shock was the dominant emotion Clint could feel, followed by a despair that was tinged with panic, and underneath an awed sense of wonder. Layered over the top was a frustrated rage that Clint could tell he was using to try and drown out the rest of it.

He pulled his finger away from his print, shivering as the door closed again. "Okay, that's weird."

"Yes," agreed Natasha, her own finger tracing around the print on her wrist but not touching it. "So, how is he?"

Clint shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's punching things."

She just nodded, not looking surprised. Clint wondered how many things she'd punched and then remembered that she'd activated just before the Battle of New York. She'd certainly hit a lot of Chitauri.

They sat in silence together for a while longer, then she stood up, resting her hand on his shoulder for a moment. "Don't stay out here all night."

"I'll go in soon," said Clint, not meaning a word of it. From the look on her face, she knew that.

****

He sat there for another hour or so, resisting the temptation to touch his print and feel Bucky's feelings again. It was clear from the mess he'd felt earlier that Bucky was even more torn apart by this than Clint was and he probably didn't want Clint listening in on that.

Who could blame Bucky for being freaked out, though? He already had a whole hell of a lot going on, and now he'd been activated by a guy who was both young enough to be his grandson and old enough to be retiring.

Clint drew in a shuddering breath and then let it out again. He was getting cold. He'd need to go in soon and he should probably take some more pills as well, and maybe even get some sleep.

He pulled himself to his feet, grimacing at the complaints from his ribs. He turned around and nearly had a heart attack. A dark figure was in the shadows by the roof access hatch, standing stock still and staring at him.

"Jesus Christ," said Clint, pressing a hand to his heart. "How long have you been there?"

Bucky shrugged, moving forward into the light. "Steve told me I needed to talk to you, but I didn't know what to say."

"So you just watched me instead," said Clint.

Bucky shrugged again and didn't say anything.

Clint sighed. "Steve was wrong, you don't have to talk to me. Not tonight, at any rate. I'm going to bed."

Bucky didn't move as Clint headed towards the access hatch. Clint hesitated, weirdly apprehensive about getting too close.

"You've been up here the whole time," said Bucky.

"Yeah," said Clint. "It's a good view."

Bucky shook his head. "It's cold and you're in pain."

"Doesn't change the view," said Clint.

There was an awkward pause while Bucky apparently processed that. Clint gave up on waiting for him to move and went to open the hatch. It was a ladder down, which had been tricky enough climbing up when he'd been just trying to escape the mess in his head, but was going to be nigh on impossible getting down now he was exhausted and no closer to working out what he should be feeling.

Bucky finally moved as Clint crouched to get to the first rung, wincing at the ache of his ribs. "Let me-" he said, holding his hands out.

Clint scowled at him, but took hold with his unbroken hand to steady himself so he didn't need to bend over. Bucky gripped at the elbow of his other arm with his metal hand, just above the cast. The metal was cold and Clint wondered again just how long Bucky had been standing there, watching him.

Bucky's real hand was a lot warmer in contrast and Clint was achingly aware that this was only the second time he'd touched Bucky's skin. Christ, how had he been so bound up in his crush that he hadn't noticed that he'd never ruled out that it was more than a crush?

Bucky held on as Clint moved down the ladder, sinking to a crouch so that he was the right height until Clint was able to take the top of the ladder with his good hand and steady himself with the elbow of his broken arm.

"Thanks," he said. He climbed slowly, laboriously down, trying his best not to knock his cast or strain his ribs, and failing at both.

Bucky watched him from his crouch while Clint tried to pretend his gaze didn't make him feel self-conscious. When Clint got to the bottom, he took a step away towards his room, then glanced up, wondering if he should say good night.

Bucky stood up and took one step forward, letting himself drop all the way to the floor rather than take the ladder.

"Very impressive," said Clint, "but we kinda needed to shut the hatch."

Bucky glanced up and made a face, then went back up the ladder and shut the hatch, before dropping back again rather than climbing down. Clint wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if he just couldn't be bothered with the rungs. He guessed that if you were a super-soldier and didn't have knees that ached if you abused them, it was just as easy to jump.

"I'm going to bed," he said again, turning away towards his room. It only took a couple of steps for it to become clear that Bucky was going to follow him the whole way there. Clint didn't say anything.

When they got to his door, he opened it and stepped inside, then glanced back to see Bucky hovering in the corridor, looking like a cross between a lost puppy and a homicidal maniac, which was not a look most people could pull off.

Clint had been intending to just faceplant the bed, but the look on Bucky's face stopped him. He sighed. Steve was irritatingly right. They probably did need to talk.

“You coming in?” he asked.

Bucky stared as if not sure Clint was talking to him, then nodded and followed him into his lounge. Clint collapsed on the sofa and waved his good hand at Bucky.

“If you're here, you may as well make yourself useful,” he said. “Pills are in the bathroom.”

Bucky headed off without needing any more prompting and came back with Clint's pills and a glass of water.

Clint took them and downed the pills, then looked up at Bucky, who was awkwardly standing over the sofa, just staring at him.

“I guess you're not done freaking out.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Yeah, touché,” said Clint. He waved at the sofa in an invitation and Bucky finally sat down.

There was silence as Clint sipped at his water and after a few minutes he wondered if they'd ever manage to actually talk about it. Christ, he wasn't going to have to go first, was he? What the hell would he even say? _You're hot as hell and I love being around you but this has come out of nowhere and I don't know what to do._ Yeah, not a chance.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I wanted to kiss you,” he said.

That was not the opening Clint had expected. “When we activated?” Because that hadn't been a facial expression that hinted at even a tiny desire for a kiss.

Bucky shook his head. “No, way before that. When we were throwing knives, I was wondering if I could ask for it if I won. Then after I won at the gun range I was so tempted to say that was gonna be my prize, but.” He stopped and looked down at his hands, clenched together in his lap. 

“Half the time it feels like I'm barely holding on. I'm trying so hard to keep a grip on who I am, get back my good memories and put aside the bad ones, put myself back together so I'm not spending half the night standing in a corridor waiting for orders, or waking up from a nightmare every five minutes. It's getting better, but it's not easy. 

“I thought, if I could just kiss you and have it be a thing that happened in the moment, it would be fine, but that kinda thing gets complicated quick, and I don't have anything left to deal with more complicated.”

“Good thing it didn't become complicated all on its own, then,” said Clint, and won himself a rueful smile.

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “I don't- How can I have a soulmate? I barely know who I am, how can I be linked to someone else? I don't-”

He stopped, looking distressed, then took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I'm sorry I ran off earlier, but I kinda needed to just- I don't know. Try and get my breath.”

“I get it,” said Clint. “Why do you think I ended up on the roof?” 

Bucky shrugged a shoulder. “Cuz you took the Hawkeye thing too far and thought you needed to build a nest?”

“Don't make me start on the _Frozen_ jokes, Mr Winter Soldier,” said Clint, and got a blank look. He sighed. “Okay, that would have been funny if you knew what I was talking about.”

Bucky didn't look as if he believed him, but he didn't comment. “And you're all set to go off and retire,” he said instead. “How am I meant to drag you back into all this when you should be off doing relaxing farm things, or whatever?”

Clint didn't know what to say to that. On the one hand, if Bucky wanted him to stay, he knew he would and probably not even regret it. On the other, Clint was meant to be getting out of all this, not getting sucked in further, adding all his baggage to Bucky's and setting back his recovery.

He remembered what Natasha had said to him when Bruce had gone. 

“We don't need to be together to be soulmates,” he said. “There's no reason we should let this change our plans, right? We've got the rest of our lives, we can allow time enough for you to sort yourself out without all this getting dragged in, and for me to, you know, do relaxing farm things.”

Bucky paused. “Yeah?” he asked.

Clint nodded, then gave in to temptation and reached out to take Bucky's hand, sliding his fingers in to replace the metal ones clinging to it. “If it's easier for you right now not to have to worry about this, then I'll just leave, like I was planning anyway, and we can sort it out later. Much later, if need be.”

Bucky's hand curled around his fingers. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

“And we can still do the stuff I mentioned,” said Clint. “I'll come back and kick your ass on the range, you can come out with the team when the farm's up to a house party. It would just give us a bit of breathing space.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay, yes. That sounds good.”

Clint felt himself relax. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, great.”

This was the part where he should let Bucky go so that he could get some sleep. Bucky's fingers were tracing over his hand though, turning it over so that he could run his thumb down the curve of his palm and around the ball of his thumb. It was sending tingles that were just this side of ticklish down to Clint's print. When Bucky took Clint's hand in his metal one so that he could run his real fingers further down the inside of his arm, running up his veins, Clint sucked a tiny breath.

Bucky's eyes glanced up at him. “This okay?” he asked quietly.

Clint just nodded.

Bucky's fingers continued up to his print, circling around the dark lines of it, then he hesitated.

“You can if you want,” offered Clint.

Bucky crossed the tiny distance to press his forefinger to Clint's print. Clint sucked in a shocked breath.

It felt completely different to when he'd touched it himself earlier. Rather than getting a door into Bucky's emotional state, all he got was a wave of warmth and affection, tinged with the kind of anticipation that came before Christmas Day. That was how Bucky felt about him. Oh man, that was such a rush. No wonder Sam and Steve couldn't keep their hands off each other's prints.

“What does it feel like?” asked Bucky.

Clint blinked at him, matching the feeling flooding through his print with the look in Bucky's eyes. Christ, that really was how Bucky felt about him. Even though this thing had thrown him for a loop and left him scrabbling to keep himself together, he still felt all that for Clint.

“I can show you,” he said, reaching his broken arm out towards Bucky's side.

Bucky nodded, unzipping his hoodie one-handed so that he could keep his finger where it was.

Clint pushed his cast under his clothes, his fingers finding Bucky's print without needing to see it. It felt like magnets coming together when he touched it, like a circuit had been completed. He could feel his feelings for Bucky flowing out while Bucky's continued to pulse through Clint's arm.

“Oh man,” said Bucky, in a breathless voice. “That's- Christ, Clint.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint.

It seemed so strange that just this afternoon he'd thought that all he had was a stupid crush, and all Bucky felt were the beginnings of a friendship that would soon be snuffed out by distance. Now, sitting like this, he could feel exactly how wrong that was on both sides.

Just as it was getting to be too much, Bucky gave a little shudder and pulled away. “Sorry,” he said, “just-”

“It's a lot,” said Clint, moving back.

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. They sat for a moment, then Clint let out a giant yawn.

“You need to sleep,” said Bucky, standing up. He held out a hand to Clint. “Come on, time for bed.”

Clint looked at the hand and then raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “Isn't that what started this mess?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I'm pretty sure this started way before that.”

Clint reached up and let himself be helped up, although he noticed they both took care to avoid Bucky's hand touching Clint's print.

Bucky hesitated once Clint was up. “Uh, night, then.”

Clint had the strongest urge to ask him to stay, for both of them to just crawl into bed and curl up around each other, but that sounded like just the kind of complication they were trying to avoid. He nodded instead. “Night.”

Bucky nodded back and left, and Clint made his way to his bed to finally faceplant it.

****

Clint's first thought when he woke up the next morning was _Holy shit, I have a soulmate,_ closely followed by _And it's god-damned Bucky Barnes._

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, then stared down at his print. It was so much more obvious now, standing out from his arm like a tattoo. He hesitated, then pressed his finger to it.

Bucky's emotions opened up in the back of his mind. Irritation mingled with anxiety, layered over deeply buried rage that Clint wasn't sure ever really went away. As he sat there, there was a brief burst of amusement that pushed some of the irritation away. He wondered what had happened to cause that. Had someone told a joke? Would he be able to feel Bucky's amusement at his own jokes?

He made himself move his finger and get up, heading out to the kitchen for coffee. Natasha and Wanda were already in there, drinking tea, but neither bothered to try and communicate with him until he had a mug of coffee in his hand.

"Good morning," said Natasha, once she'd judged he was awake enough to respond.

Clint nodded at her. "Morning. Anything exciting happening?"

"You mean, other than you and Bucky turning out to be soulmates?" asked Wanda. Clint sent her a glare, but it was probably a bit weak. He'd need a bit more coffee before he could properly express silent rage.

"Rhodey is meant to be arriving at any moment," said Natasha. "Tony has already been on the phone to say he's coming over tomorrow with Pepper for a welcome back party."

Clint made a face. "Guess I'm gonna miss that, then. Probably shouldn't be drinking at the moment anyway. I'll only end up injuring myself more."

Wanda frowned. "Why won't you be here?"

"I'm leaving," said Clint. "Tasha, can you fly me over to the farm later today? I should be packed up by this afternoon."

They both just stared at him. "Is Bucky going with you?" asked Wanda.

"Nope," he said, trying to hide in his coffee.

Natasha let out a long breath. "Clint, don't you think-"

"Nope," he said again, interrupting her. "We had a chat, decided this was best."

Her eyes narrowed. "In what way is this best?"

Clint shrugged. "Our way," he said, shortly.

She let out a pained sigh, but didn't argue with him about it. "At least wait until you're healed up a bit."

"Nah, I'm good now," said Clint. "Just gonna pack up my stuff and go."

"Pack up your stuff one-handed, without straining your ribs?" asked Wanda.

"Sure," said Clint. "No problem."

Natasha sighed and stood up to put her mug in the dishwasher. "I'll help. But I think you're being an idiot."

"Nothing new there, then," said Clint. He finished his coffee, then poured himself another mug to take back to his rooms.

****

He didn't really have that much stuff. Once he and Natasha had thrown his clothes in a couple of bags, packed up his fletching supplies and put all his bows, arrows, knives and other assorted weaponry into cases, there were only a few other bits. They piled it all up by the door and he glanced around. The only thing left that was technically his was the beanbag chair, but he thought he'd probably leave it.

"I told Bucky that he could have my rooms when I retired," he said. "Think he'll appreciate the chair?"

Natasha gave it a dubious look. "I suppose he can always use it as stress relief," she said. "Slash it up with a knife while pretending it's a Hydra scientist."

"If he harms it in any way, I'm authorising you to terminate him with extreme prejudice," said Clint.

"I'm not sure you have the authority for that," said Natasha. "And I'm very sure that Steve would get mad at me for that."

"Are you saying that Steve's feelings are more important than mine?" asked Clint, pressing a hand to his heart. “Aw, Tasha, where's the love?”

"Team Captain always comes first," she said. "Come on, let's get lunch before we leave."

Rhodey was in the kitchen. He looked like he had just arrived back, if the bag he'd left by the door was anything to go by. He was making himself coffee, which Clint approved of as a vital first step in getting home.

"Hey guys," he said as they came in. "How's it going? Anything exciting happen while I was gone? Other than, you know, an evil killer assassin moving in. Man, and I thought Tony was nuts when he took in the Hulk."

"Bucky's not evil," said Clint.

"Bruce is not the same as the Hulk," said Natasha at the same time.

Rhodey's eyebrows rose. "O-kay," he said, slowly. "So, I take it we're all good buddies with the guy now?"

"You could say that," said Natasha, glancing sideways at Clint.

Clint made a face and headed over to open the fridge so he could pretend he wasn't part of the conversation.

"Oh man, what happened?" asked Rhodey. "Did I miss out on gossip? I thought Tony was meant to be keeping me updated."

"I doubt Tony actually knows this yet," said Natasha.

"You're kidding, right?" said Clint, pulling out the bits they'd need for sandwiches. "That man has eyes everywhere. I'm mostly just surprised he hasn't called me up to mock me already."

"I'm sure he will," said Natasha. “Give him time to come up with some jokes first.”

"Mock you for what?" asked Rhodey. "Come on, man, don't leave me in the dark."

Clint took a deep breath. "We, uh. We activated last night."

There was a stunned silence. "Wait, you and The _Winter Soldier_ activated? You're soulmates?"

"Yup," said Clint. "Apparently."

He sat down at the table and kept his head down as he started to assemble a sandwich.

"Wow," said Rhodey, after a short pause. "You go away for a couple of weeks, and shit goes crazy."

"I don't know if you've noticed," said Clint. "But shit was already crazy. Last month we fought a guy who thinks 'The Mole Man' is a good name. I mean, Christ, have some self respect."

"Says Hawkguy," said Rhodey.

"Says _Iron Patriot_ ," sent back Clint.

Rhodey made a face. "Yeah, okay, but I didn't pick that."

"I didn't pick Hawkeye," said Clint. "My old ringmaster did. This guy though, he picked his own damn stupid name."

"You know, it feels a bit like you're trying to change the subject," said Rhodey.

"Imagine that," muttered Clint.

"He's trying to pretend the whole thing isn't happening," said Natasha. "Which is definitely the healthy thing to do, no question at all."

"I'm gonna take my hearing aids out," threatened Clint.

"I don't get it," said Rhodey. "If you only activated yesterday, shouldn't you still be all over each other?"

"Nope," said Clint, focusing on his sandwich.

"Right," said Rhodey, slowly. "Cuz, when Tony and Pepper activated, they basically just had a sex marathon for a month."

"I'm not Tony," said Clint.

"And Bucky definitely isn't Pepper," said Natasha.

Clint pictured Bucky in a pair of Pepper's killer high heels and had to snigger.

"You're picturing him in women's clothing," said Natasha, with a sigh.

"Of course I am," said Clint. "I'm kinda surprised you're not."

"I've trained my brain not to do that kind of thing," she said.

"I haven't met him yet, but I can tell that's gonna be the first thing I picture when I do," said Rhodey. "That's gonna make a good first impression."

"I almost wish I was going to be around to see that," said Clint.

Rhodey frowned at him. "Where are you going?"

"Natasha's giving me a lift out to my farm after lunch."

"What?" said Rhodey. "But..."

"You knew I was retiring once you got back," said Clint.

"Well, yeah, but...." Rhodey gave Natasha a helpless look. She just raised an eyebrow at him in response. Clint ignored both of them.

****

After lunch, he and Natasha - well, mainly Natasha, he had a broken arm, couldn't possibly do any heavy lifting - loaded his stuff on to a quinjet.

"You going to say goodbye?" she asked.

Clint shrugged a shoulder. "Not much point, is there? They all know I'm going and it's not like we don't all have phones."

"Clinton Francis Barton," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm not commenting on your pathetic attempt to run away from reality-"

"I'm not-" started Clint, but got rolled over.

"-but if you think you can just slink off and not say goodbye to your _team mates_ , who are also, I might add, your _friends_..."

Clint let out a long breath. "Yeah, okay, fine," he said. "It's just gonna be awkward and weird though."

"Most of friendship is," she said. "That doesn't mean you can duck out of basic consideration." She pulled her phone out and dialled. "Steve, get everyone out to the quinjet pad. Clint's leaving, and I've only just managed to persuade him to say goodbye first. Yeah, I know, that's what I said."

She hung up. "He thinks you're an idiot."

Clint shrugged. "He's thought that for most of the time he's known me."

"You could at least _try_ proving him wrong," she said, just as there was a crash from the base as a door was thrown open, smashing back against the wall.

Bucky sprinted out, making a beeline for Clint with a furious expression that made Clint very, very aware of just how dangerous he was.

"Aw, no," he said, weakly. Natasha carefully moved away from him.

Just as Clint was bracing himself for a painful impact, Bucky came to a sudden halt about a foot away from him.

“You were just going to leave?” he asked, incredulously.

Clint shrugged. “You knew I was going.”

Bucky stared at him for long enough for Clint to start to twitch under his gaze. “You're a fucking moron,” he eventually announced.

“Yeah, so everyone seems to think,” said Clint. “We agreed I'd leave, remember? Last night.”

Bucky made a frustrated noise. “I didn't agree to you just disappearing.”

“The longer I stay, the more complicated it all gets,” countered Clint.

Bucky let out a huff of air. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “But still, come on. At least say goodbye.”

Clint gave him a brief wave. “Bye.”

Bucky stared at him again, then muttered something that sounded like _absolute fucking moron_. “Look, Steve's getting Stark to bring me a phone when he comes out tomorrow,” he said.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “I bet Tony loved that.”

Bucky shrugged. “Something about making sure it was completely secure and untraceable. If I call you, are you gonna pick up?”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “Course. Hey, you know this means you get my rooms now, right? If you want them.” 

“If I- Christ,” said Bucky, glancing away. “Yeah, sure, I'll bear that in mind.”

“Just don't fuck with my beanbag chair, yeah?” said Clint

“You left that monstrosity?” asked Bucky. “Maybe I'll stay where I am and just put up with Steve and Sam's constant sex.”

Clint shrugged. “Your loss. It's fucking comfy though, seriously.”

There was a movement and he glanced over Bucky's shoulder to see that the other Avengers had come out of the base and were all hovering by the door, just watching them.

“Have we got an audience?” asked Bucky, tracking his eyes.

Clint nodded. “Pretty sure they're all thinking that I'm a moron too.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “That we're both morons,” he corrected. “Sam and Steve have been giving me worried looks all morning, probably wondering why we're not curled up on a sofa with our prints linked, making moon eyes at each other like they do all the time.”

“Rhodey suggested a month-long sex marathon,” said Clint.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that one I could go for.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “Well, we've got plenty of time, right? We'll schedule it in for later on.”

Bucky nodded and there was a brief pause. He hadn't taken his eyes off Clint's face for the entire conversation, eyes so intent that it felt like he was trying to imprint it on his brain. His flesh hand was balled up into a fist.

“They all still staring?” he asked, after a moment. Clint nodded and Bucky huffed a breath. “Probably waiting for a big, romantic, movie-style kiss.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “The real question is, who are they expecting to get bent over backwards?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Not sure you could sweep me off my feet with your arm in a cast.”

“I'd give it a damned good try, though,” said Clint with a grin.

“We're not gonna pander to their expectations,” said Bucky. He held out his hand, curled into a fist.

Clint stared at it for a long moment before he caught on, then he grinned and bumped his own fist against it. “See you around, Barnes.”

“See you around, Barton,” said Bucky. He gave him one last look, then turned and headed back into the base.

When he passed the others, Steve tried to catch his shoulder and say something, but Bucky evaded him and disappeared back inside.

Saying goodbye to the others was exactly as awkward and weird as Clint had guessed it would be, especially as most of them were just broadcasting confusion and disapproval at him. Wanda gave him a hug, which Clint totally wasn't ready for, and the others all shook his hand, trotting out platitudes wishing him luck and telling him to keep in contact.

Clint just nodded and smiled and waited until he could go and hide on the plane.

When they finally got up in the air, he let out a long sigh and let himself relax.

“So, have you done any preparation for your genius plan to fix up the farm?” asked Natasha.

“Course,” said Clint. “I know exactly what I'm gonna do to the place.”

“Okay,” she slowly, “but have you actually _done_ anything?”

“Uh,” said Clint. “Like what? I mean, I made sure there was power and water. And we were all there last year before Sokovia, it was all still standing. Plus, Cap and Tony chopped enough wood for the next decade.”

“Still standing,” repeated Natasha. “Clint, have you been back since? Have you at least cleaned out some of the rooms?”

“Uh,” said Clint. “I was gonna do that-”

“-with a broken arm and bruised ribs?” she finished, then muttered something rude to herself in Russian. “What were you intending to do for dinner tonight?”

“I stole some Cheetos from the base,” said Clint. “Don't tell Hill, she'll probably charge me for them.”

“Cheetos,” she repeated. It was beginning to sound like she had some kind of glitch. “Clint, I swear, you get stupider every day. Do you at least have a vehicle at the farm, or were you going to use the quinjet to go for groceries?”

“There's a truck,” said Clint. “I'm, like, 95 percent sure it still works.”

“Oh, brother,” she muttered. “Fine, okay. I'm staying with you for a few days.”

Clint blinked at her. “What? No, Tash, you don't have to-”

“I clearly do,” she said. “The real question is whether or not I'll be able to leave you alone after that. You're a walking disaster, Barton.”

“You'll miss the party tomorrow,” said Clint.

She shrugged. “You get that was going to be as much a retirement party for you as it was a welcome back for Rhodey, right? If you're skipping it, I think I can too.”

Clint had figured that, which was partly why he was skipping it. Ten minutes of goodbyes was more than enough for him. “Okay fine,” he said and then, after a suitable pause, “Thanks.”

****

Natasha stayed for nearly a week, doing most of the work as they cleaned enough rooms for Clint to be able to live in the house without feeling like he was squatting. The truck that Clint had left in one of the barns a few years back did start running without needing more than a little coaxing, which was a relief, and she drove him into town and they stocked up on food and various other items that it turned out Clint didn't own, like bedding and kitchen stuff.

Natasha stopped muttering about how unprepared he was on the third day, when Clint's shiny new fridge freezer and even shinier coffee machine were delivered.

"Washing machine's coming tomorrow," he said.

"Good," she said. "The curtains desperately need a wash."

It was more domestic than Clint had ever been, even with the limitations imposed by his injuries, and he was pretty sure the same was true for Natasha. He had a feeling she was enjoying the novelty, although she looked pretty relieved to be getting back to the action when it came time for her to go.

"You won't strain yourself without me here to watch you?" she asked.

"Nah," said Clint. "I'll just chill for a bit, catch up on _Dog Cops_. Plenty of time to do all the heavy lifting when I'm healed up."

"I'll come and collect you for your doctor's appointment," she said. He made a face at the thought and she glared at him. "You do want the cast off, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Just, couldn't I get rid of it without any doctors being involved?"

"Not really, no," she said. "Besides, don't you want to come out and see us all? See Bucky?"

"Not if you're all just gonna mock me," said Clint, then corrected himself. “Mock us.” Because apparently, if you were Clint Barton, having a soulmate just meant there were two of you getting teased for being idiots.

She opened her eyes wide. "Us? Mock you? Perish the thought!"

Right, like he believed that for an instant.

He'd thought it was quiet when it was just the two of them, but with just him there, it was almost unnerving. He'd lived in the middle of big cities or on military bases ever since he'd left the circus, which had been a constant riot of noise. It was going to take some getting used to being the only one around, not to mention the lack of traffic noise, shouting and occasional gunfire.

He made himself coffee and settled on the sofa, pulling out his phone and checking it pretty much automatically for a text from Bucky.

He'd got a text from an unknown number on the evening after he'd left the base.

_Hi._

It had been followed a minute later by:

_Stark says I have to tell you who I am, but I reckon you can guess._

_Well, I did think it was Deadpool until you mentioned Tony,_ he sent back. _But no way Tony would be giving Deadpool advice on texting me, so I'm guessing Spider-Man? Maybe Wolverine?_

 _Moron_ , he got back.

 _I'm saving your number under Definitely Not Deadpool,_ he sent, then couldn't resist pressing his finger to his print. Bucky's feelings were mostly light, but there was a creeping tension around the edges that felt like he was close to being overwhelmed. Clint wondered how many people were at the party Stark had organised, and how long it would be before Bucky found an excuse to slip off.

There was a sudden shot of amusement and affection, and Clint knew he was reading his text. He found himself grinning at his phone in a rather stupid manner. Probably a good thing Natasha was in the kitchen and couldn't mock him for it.

 _I've saved yours under Second Best Shot In The World,_ replied Bucky.

 _I think I'd prefer Moron,_ sent Clint.

Since then, they'd been texting pretty much non-stop. Clint had wondered if they shouldn't be trying to keep a bit more distance given the reasons he'd come out here in the first place, but it was hard to put the brakes on when he could feel that Bucky was enjoying it as much as he was.

 _Natasha's on her way back to you guys,_ he sent now. _Ignore anything she says about the farm, it's all awesome here._

 _Every time you mention it, I picture you in overalls, chewing on a straw,_ sent back Bucky, a few minutes later.

 _If I went up to the attic, I could probably find a photo of me as a kid doing just that,_ replied Clint.

_I think I'm gonna have to take my 'My soulmate is classier than your soulmate' shirt back to the shop._

_Should have just stuck with 'My soulmate's a better shot than your soulmate.'_

_'My soulmate's better at ancient weaponry than your soulmate'. Not sure if that's a boast or a complaint, though._

_Don't think of it as ancient, think of it as vintage,_ sent back Clint.

_That just makes you a hipster. I may not know much about modern life, but I know having a hipster soulmate would just be embarrassing._

_Better or worse than a redneck one?_

There was no answer to that for a while and Clint found himself slumping back into the corner of the sofa, eyelids drooping. Well, why shouldn't he have a nap? Nothing he had to stay awake for; he was retired. He pulled his hearing aids out with clumsy fingers and let himself nod off.

****

Two days later, Clint was poking around in the barn, trying to work out what half the crap in there was, when he heard a helicopter approaching, coming in low. He grabbed the nearest thing he could use as a weapon, which was some kind of ancient farming implement, and took a careful look out the door.

A helicopter was landing on the meadow where Natasha had put down the quinjet. It touched down for barely a minute, during which a familiar figure hopped out with a case, then it took off again.

Clint let out a sigh and put the weapon down as he headed out to meet Tony. "What are you doing here?" he asked once he was close enough.

Tony tutted. "What kind of a greeting is that? I'd make a joke about you being raised in a barn, but..."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, fine. Hi Tony, great to see you, what the hell are you doing here? Please tell me you're not about to demand I go save the world or something."

"Nah, course not," said Tony. "I'm retired too, remember? No, I was talking to Natasha, and she said you were intending to catch up on _Dog Cops_."

"So...you came all the way out here to join me?" asked Clint. "Man, I hope you brought popcorn."

"Clint, haven't you worked out yet that you're not getting cable out here?" asked Tony.

Clint twitched. He knew that, of course he did, he just wasn't ready to accept that _Dog Cops_ wasn't part of his future yet. "Shut up, I'm in denial. I'll get it working."

"You really won't," said Tony. "I will, though." He held up the case. "I brought you a direct connection to Starknet, so you'll get ultrafast internet, cable TV and, you know, a direct link to me, if you find you need it. Also new hearing aids, cuz I heard you decided to blow up one of the last set I gave you."

Clint blinked. "Wow, okay. Yeah, that beats popcorn."

Tony grinned. "I thought you'd say that. Come on, I'll get it all installed, then you can offer me a beer or something. I told my guys to come back for me in about five hours."

Getting it installed largely involved Tony crawling around fixing wires while Clint stood back and watched, trying to ignore the insults to his electrical system.

"Where's your main supply come into the property?" asked Tony once he was done doing...things of some sort in the house.

Clint just blinked at him. "Uh. There's a pole by the gate?"

"Show me," said Tony.

Clint took him out to where the drive came off the main road, and Tony squinted up at the power lines running into the top of the pole. "Yeah, that's it." He climbed up the rungs and opened the box at the top, where he started doing things that the electricity company would probably complain about if they found out.

Clint pulled himself up to sit on the fence. "So, how was the party? Did you all sit around mourning my loss and talking about how awesome I am?"

"You know, we spend a lot less time talking about how awesome you are than you seem to think," said Tony. "It was okay. Got Rhodey drunk enough for karaoke, which is always hilarious. Your boy sloped off early."

Clint winced. "Do me a favour, don't tell him you're calling him my boy."

Tony sent a sharp-eyed look down at him. "Well, it's that or 'Cap's favourite killing machine'."

"He's not-" started Clint, then stopped himself when he saw the look on Tony's face. Yeah, okay, he'd walked into that one. He huffed and felt his shoulders hunch. "I always thought that activating would be a good thing, not just another way for my life to get weirder."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, no." He was silent for a minute as something in the box sparked, then he said, "I know people are giving you shit for coming out here, but I get it. When me and Pepper activated, I seriously thought about just running for Europe or somewhere. I freaked out. She did too, I mean, the last thing you want is to find out your soulmate is a well-known playboy, right?"

"Better a playboy than an assassin," said Clint, then shook his head. "Actually, no, because my best friend used to be assassin as well. Hey, what do you think that says about me?"

"Probably best if I don't tell you," said Tony. He was using both hands to fit some gadget into the box, balanced precariously on the rungs. Clint wondered what he was meant to do if he fell. How long did it take an ambulance to get out here? If he killed Tony Stark just because he wanted to watch _Dog Cops_ , was he going to get into trouble? Yeah, probably.

A truck was heading down the road towards them, far off in the distance. If Tony fell, they could maybe give them a lift to the nearest hospital.

"I always figured that finding my soulmate would come once I was done having fun," continued Tony. "Like, 'the party ends now, you have to settle down'. I didn't realise it would just be a different kind of party. When we activated, all I really saw for a bit were the things that I was going to lose."

"I don't know that I really lost anything," said Clint, tapping his fingers on his cast. The truck was a lot closer now. He'd forgotten that you could see traffic coming for miles out here. "I mean, this may shock you, but I was never really the international playboy type anyway."

Tony looked down at him, raising his eyebrows. "No, really? I'm horrified. Everything I thought I knew about you was a lie."

Clint made a face at him just as the truck pulled up rather than passing by.

"Clint Barton, is that you?" asked a voice he hadn't hear in decades.

He stared at the man in the truck. "Uh, hi, Mr Hughes," he said, rubbing at the back of his head.

Mr Hughes threw open the truck door and got out. "Holy hell, Clint, I had no idea you were back here."

"Yeah," said Clint. "Figured it was time to come back and actually live here for a bit."

Mr Hughes had been living at the neighbouring farm since before Clint had been born. When Clint and Barney had sold off most of their land, just before Barney disappeared off to god-knows-where, he'd been the one to buy it. Clint had used his share of the money to buy Barney out of the house and the small patch of land they'd kept around it. Barney had thought he was nuts to want to keep hold of any of it. Clint had thought he was nuts for a lot more reasons.

"Last I heard, you were off saving the world somewhere," said Mr Hughes. "Gotta be honest, I always found it hard to match the tearaway kid I remember with the guy fighting aliens alongside Captain America and Tony Stark."

"He's still kinda tearaway," said Tony, shutting the box.

Mr Hughes glanced up at him, clearly failed to recognise him, then looked back at Clint. "I can see he's still getting himself banged up," he said, nodding at the cast. "Did you get that saving the world?"

Clint shrugged uncomfortably. Most of what Mr Hughes probably remembered as Clint getting himself banged up had actually been his dad banging him up. "No world-saving involved, just a regular mission."

Tony climbed down the pole, jumping the last bit. "Depends what that intel tells us," he said. "Keeping your _friend_ out of certain hands might well prevent a future that would feel like the end of the world."

Clint didn't want to think about that, so he was kinda relieved when Mr Hughes recognised Tony now that he was at ground level.

"Oh! Mr. Stark," he said, holding a hand out to him. "Pleasure to meet you." He glanced up at the pole as Tony shook his hand. "Should I be asking what you were doing up there?"

"Just helping Clint out with a bit of tech set-up," said Tony. "Nothing to worry about or, you know, mention to the power company. It's all totally safe, I promise, and you'll get a better cell signal in a two, maybe three, mile radius of here."

Clint blinked at him. "You're boosting the phone signal?"

"Yeah, that's easy enough so I kinda threw it in for free with everything else," said Tony.

"That'll make my wife happy," said Mr Hughes. "Drives her nuts when I'm out in the fields and she can't get hold of me to nag me about something."

"I live to promote marital harmony," said Tony, giving him his best PR grin. "And maybe you can do us a favour in return. You've known Clint a long time, right?"

Mr Hughes nodded. "Oh yeah, since he was born. We looked after his brother when his mom was in the hospital having him."

"Did you?" asked Clint. "I didn't know that." He tried to picture his family as it would have been then, Barney still just a toddler, Dad actually caring enough to go to the hospital with Mom, and Mom not worn out and faded. He couldn't manage it.

Mr Hughes shrugged. "Long time ago."

Yeah, that was for sure.

"Okay, great," said Tony. "If anyone comes around, asking questions, it would be awesome if you could tell them you don't know anything about him, haven't seen him, don't think he's ever coming back around this way, that kinda thing."

Clint frowned. "Who's going to be looking for me? I don't exactly have a long list of guys with a personal grudge like you and Steve."

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "You think there won't be interest in you if the news gets out about you and your new favourite assassin? Not to mention others that might realise a retired Avenger is a good hostage. It doesn't take much brain power to work out we'd all come after you. Perfect for anyone that wants to set up a trap."

"Aw, man," muttered Clint, picturing the humiliation of having to be rescued.

Mr Hughes cleared his throat. "I can keep my mouth shut. And so can Lizzie, if you ever wanted to pop around for a beer, Clint. I know she'd be pleased to see you."

Clint didn't know how to react to that so he just gave another shrug. "Yeah, okay." A thought occurred to him, probably pretty belatedly. "Tony, how much of this tech you're putting everywhere that you told me was for cable TV is actually security systems?"

"Oh, only about a quarter of it," said Tony, cheerfully. "Ah, don't look like that, I swear most of it is about making sure you can watch _Dog Cops_. Wouldn't want you to miss out on the thing Sergeant Whiskers does to-"

"Ah!" said Clint, trying to clamp his hands over his ears and then remembering he only had one available right now. "No spoilers!"

"See, he didn't really grow up much," said Tony to Mr Hughes, who laughed.

"That's a relief. I'd hate to think I didn't know him any more. I should be getting along, it was good to see you again, Clint, and I meant what I said about coming over. Don't be a stranger."

"I won't," said Clint, not really meaning it. "See you around, Mr Hughes."

Mr Hughes said goodbye, then he got back in the truck and drove off, and Clint felt his shoulders relax.

"Come on," said Tony. "I've just got your TV to hook up, then you can get me that beer."

"And you can tell me what other 'free' bits of tech you've wired me up with," said Clint.

Tony did his best to look innocent, which was a dismal failure. "Nothing you'll be upset about, promise."

They drank their beers on the porch, Clint occasionally glancing up at the roof and thinking about the best way to rebuild it.

"So, I've been trying to come up with a subtle way to ask this," said Tony, after a pause, "but subtle's never exactly been my strong point, so... When you press your print, does he feel like he's gonna go homicidal on us? What does he feel like?"

Clint sent him a glare. "Fuck off," he snapped. "What does Pepper feel like?"

"Ninety percent ruthless efficiency, ten percent exasperation," said Tony promptly. "Come on, don't give me that, you know I'm on board the Bucky Barnes Rehabilitation Train, I just wanna see how close we're walking to a disaster."

"We're not," said Clint. "He's not homicidal. He's angry, sure, but who wouldn't be? I was, after Loki."

Tony made a face. "Yeah, I was after Afghanistan," he said quietly. "I mean, not quite the same thing, but-"

"No, it kinda is," said Clint. "It all comes down to other people thinking that their will is more important than yours, and trying to take yours away from you."

"Yeah," said Tony, staring out at the trees. For a moment Clint wondered if he'd crossed a line; Tony never talked about Afghanistan and he was pretty sure they were all meant to pretend they hadn't read detailed reports about it.

Tony sighed. "Okay, if you think he's fine, I'll take your word for it. Guess I'm just antsy cuz he's shacked up with my guys, and I'm a long flight away if things go wrong."

"Things won't go wrong," said Clint, with confidence. "I mean, come on, Steve's got his back. You've got to trust Captain America to know what he's doing, right?"

"You mean the guy who nosedived a plane into the Arctic Circle?" said Tony. "Oh yeah, sure. He's definitely the man with the plan."

"Cuz all your plans are gold," said Clint. “Mr. I gave a super-villain my address and invited him to attack?”

"My plans are epic," said Tony, pointing a finger at him. "And you'll agree if you want to keep your shiny new cable TV."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine, you're the best of the best."

"Yup," said Tony, with a nod.

****

Life with proper TV and internet was a lot better. Clint managed to mainline all the _Dog Cops_ he'd missed in one day, and then spent some time looking at DIY websites for advice on fixing up the porch, debating whether or not he'd get into trouble for starting it before his arm was out of the cast.

Probably. Well, he only had another two weeks before his appointment, he could wait.

He watched more TV instead. It was kinda nice not having an alarm going off that meant he had to leap up and go and fight bad guys every so often, but he did find himself falling sleep on the couch more often than he was going to admit.

He was woken up one night by the buzzing of his phone as it vibrated in his pocket and he realised, with a wince, that he'd fallen asleep in his hearing aids. He pulled the phone out to find it was gone 3 AM, and Bucky had just texted him.

_Please be awake._

Clint blinked at it, then pressed a finger to his print. Bucky's emotions were surging between anger, fear and a sort of sucking black despair. He hit the call button without even thinking about it. It rang twice before Bucky picked up, which was way too long to have to wait.

"Clint," Bucky answered in a hushed voice. There was a thread of desperation in his voice that made Clint bitterly regret not being there with him.

"Hey, what's up?" asked Clint, just as quietly.

There was silence. "Sorry, shouldn't have bothered you. You sound like you were asleep."

"It's so totally fine, seriously," said Clint. "I dozed off on the sofa with my aids in, it's a good thing I woke up. What's going on?"

Bucky let out a long sigh. "I had a nightmare," he confessed, sounding tired. "And then I woke up and I couldn't- I couldn't shake it."

"Hey, you're okay," Clint told him. "You're awake, you're safe, Steve is only a couple of rooms away, whatever you dreamed isn't happening."

"It did happen though," said Bucky, and there was a shakiness to his voice that Clint really didn't like. "It happened before, it could happen again."

"No, it couldn't," said Clint. "Bucky, we've got you now, no one will let them get you back."

“Yeah,” said Bucky, letting out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, I know. Just- God, Clint. I thought I was getting better.”

“You are getting better,” said Clint. “Of course you are. One nightmare doesn't change that.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, but he didn't sound convinced.

Clint racked his memory for what the SHIELD therapists had said to him after Loki. “Your brain has to work through this stuff to process it properly. It sucks, but it has to happen so that you can get past it, yeah?”

Or, at least, that was what he thought they'd said. He hadn't been paying any attention at the time.

Bucky was silent for a long time. “Yeah, okay. Just...it sucks.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, wholeheartedly.

There was silence for a bit longer and Clint thought he could almost feel Bucky calming down over the phone line. He thought about touching his print and feeling it for real, but something about that seemed intrusive when he could just ask Bucky.

“You know you can call me at any time, right?” he said instead. “If you need to talk or whatever.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, then he let out a frustrated noise. “Man, I'm so sorry you ended up with such a flaky soulmate.”

“No,” said Clint immediately. “Oh no, don't do that. You're awesome. Got it on a t-shirt, remember? _My soulmate is better than yours_.”

Bucky snorted. “ _Better than yours at disturbing my beauty sleep cuz he's freaking out_?”

“Have you seen me?” said Clint. “I'm already ridiculously pretty. Too much beauty sleep and I'll start blinding people. You're doing the world a service by waking me up.”

That earned him a huffed laugh that kinda made him want to high-five himself with success. As long as Bucky was laughing at his terrible jokes, he wasn't freaking out.

“I'm thinking maybe _My soulmate is more deluded than yours_ ,” said Bucky.

Clint gave a mock-gasp. “Are you saying I'm not pretty? I'll have you know that, now most of my bruises have faded, I'm the best looking guy in a mile radius.”

“And how far away is your nearest neighbour?”

“A mile and a half,” admitted Clint.

Bucky laughed again and Clint smiled to himself. Oh yeah, he'd totally knocked this calming-freaked-soulmate thing out of the park.

“If most of your bruises have faded, how are the rest of injuries?” asked Bucky.

“Okay,” said Clint. “Getting better. Ribs are pretty close to being fine. Just this stupid cast now, really.”

“This stupid cast that you're taking care of, yeah?” said Bucky.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Clint. “I'm wrapping it in cotton wool.”

“You better be,” said Bucky. “You need to get all healed up so I can kick your ass on the range.”

“I could kick your ass even with a cast,” shot back Clint.

“Oh yeah?” said Bucky. “Bring it, Barton.”

“I would, if we were in the same place,” said Clint. “I'd show you exactly how awesome I am.”

Bucky laughed. “Awesome, and ridiculously pretty, yeah?”

“Damn straight,” said Clint. “Come on, you think you'd have linked with someone who wasn't both?”

There was a long pause, then Bucky said in a quiet voice, “I think I'm damned lucky to be linked with you. No matter how shitty the timing is.”

Clint felt a bit as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. He cleared his throat. “The incredible Hawkeye, right?” he said, weakly.

“I'm not kidding,” said Bucky. “Thanks for this, for picking up the phone and talking me down, and acting like it's no big deal. I appreciate it.”

Clint swallowed around the lump in his throat. “No problem,” he said. “I meant it, you know. Any time you want, you can call me. It's not like I'm doing anything out here that can't be put off for later. Even sleeping.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” said Bucky. “I'm gonna let you get back to that now, though. You should try making it to an actual bed, maybe. Go crazy.”

“My actual bed is so far away, though,” said Clint, stretching out along the sofa. “And this couch is great for sleeping on.”

That got him the kind of long-suffering sigh that Clint was so familiar with from the other people in his life that he'd long ago decided to take it as a sign of undying affection. “At least take your aids out.”

“Oh yeah,” agreed Clint. “Just as soon as I don't need them to hear you.”

“Okay, well, good night then,” said Bucky.

“Good night,” returned Clint. “I hope you sleep well. If not, just give me a call back, yeah?”

That got him another pause, followed by a quiet sigh. “Yeah, okay. Night, Barton.”

“Night, Barnes,” said Clint, and hung up.

He switched the phone onto vibrate and made sure it was tucked close enough to wake him if it went off, then pulled out his aids, pulled the blanket on the back of the couch over him, and went back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_On my way to my first call-out as an official Avenger. Some guy called Doom and his robots. Got any tips?_

Clint read the text twice, then had to take a deep breath. God, how he wanted to be with the team, all suited up and on his way to kick ass, right where he'd be able to watch Bucky's back.

Stupid. It wasn't as if he'd be able to go with a broken arm even if he hadn't retired.

_His robots look impressive but are kinda shitty, especially compared with the stuff Tony builds. Unless he's upgraded, the best place to hit them is right side of the chest. That's where the batteries are._

He told himself he wasn't going to get emotional at Bucky and add to his nerves, but couldn't resist adding, _If you let Doom take you down, by the way, I'll never stop mocking you._

 _No need to worry, I fully intend to finish the day in one piece,_ sent back Bucky, which meant Clint hadn't been as stealthy about telling him to watch his back as he'd hoped. _We're landing now. Text you when it's all over._

Clint glared at his phone, fingers twitching. He glanced around at the kitchen, where he had been replacing the rusted hinges on the cupboard doors, which he could just about manage with one hand. Anxiety sent restlessness shimmering under his skin and he put down the screwdriver. Fuck it, he couldn't just do DIY while his team were out fighting.

He took himself out for a run, circling the whole property twice before he slowed down enough to check his phone. No text yet, they must still be fighting. He tucked the phone away and put his head down again, but it was barely two minutes before he stopped, unable to resist the temptation of pressing his finger to his print.

Bucky was all focused intensity, occasional spurts of tightly-channelled rage mixed with a flood of adrenalin that Clint remembered all too well. Christ, why wasn't he with him?

 _Because you're old, and broken_ , he reminded himself. He forced himself to pull his finger away and then glanced around. While he was out here, he might as well work out where he was going to put his range.

He zig-zagged all over his scrap of land, alternating between pretending he was making plans, checking his phone and pressing his finger to his print. He should probably make sure that Bucky didn't mind him looking in like this all the time. As accepted as it was for soulmates to read each other without much thought, Clint couldn't help thinking that Bucky had had enough people messing about in his head without permission. He might not want another one, even if it was just his soulmate trying to share his combat high.

When he touched his print and read relief, triumph and exhilaration, he knew the fight was done with. He pulled out his phone to find he didn't have a text yet and made a face. Come on, how hard was it to send a few words over?

He headed back inside, and was making coffee amongst the debris of the kitchen cupboards when the phone finally buzzed.

_You're right about kinda shitty, but he sure has a lot of them. Or, had a lot of them. I think we put a bit of a dent in his supply._

Clint felt himself relax, and then wondered why he'd been tense in the first place. Come on, the Winter Soldier vs. Doom's half-assed robotics? No contest.

_Good news is it usually takes him a couple of months to rebuild. Bad news is he never learns his lesson, and you'll be fighting him every few months until you quit the team._

_At least something in my life will be predictable. Does Steve always insist on doing this much clear-up after?_

Clint grinned. Oh man, that was something he definitely did not miss. _Oh yeah, but if you think that sucks, wait until he decides you're PR ready and makes you talk to the media._

There was a ten minute wait before Bucky's reply, during which time Clint started back on replacing hinges.

_I could be wrong, but I'm thinking my face isn't going to inspire a lot of support for the Avengers. Too much bad PR about me already. Plus I seem to keep just glaring at any press that get too close to me, not sure how that happens, hope that doesn't mean they don't want to talk to me._

_Are you giving them your 'I'm gonna murder you' look, or your 'did you really just touch my favourite gun?' look? Cuz, you should know that the second one is scarier._

When his phone buzzed again, Clint made himself wait until he'd finished the door he was working on before picking it up which, of course, meant it buzzed twice more while he was trying not to fuck it up more than he already had, given the cast and his general clutziness.

_I'm giving them my 'the future is bullshit, all these robots but not one flying car' one. Must be working, Steve's just told me to dial it back cuz Hill's worried I'm about to snap._

_I've been set free, Steve's given Sam and me permission to fly back._

_Sam got a wing shot off and took a tumble, I probably should have said. He's got bruising, everyone else is fine. I kept an eye on Natasha for you, like you asked. Not that she needed it._

_She never does,_ Clint sent back. _Doesn't mean it's not good knowing you're watching her. Thanks._

 _No problem_ , he got back. _I'm gonna go back and veg out on that stupid beanbag chair._

_Told you it was comfy as fuck._

_Yeah, yeah. Still ugly, though._

Clint didn't bother replying to that. Bucky would learn true appreciation of the chair in his own time. He was already halfway there, after all.

****

Natasha came to pick Clint up for his appointment in a quinjet.

"Do you think I should sort out a proper landing pad?" he asked, as they took off from the meadow. "Or do you think that would be like a flashing neon sign saying that I was living there?"

"Flashing neon sign," she said. "The meadow is fine, we've all landed in a lot worse places."

"True," said Clint. "Any time we've been to the Savage Land springs to mind."

Natasha made a face. "I hate that place."

"Yeah," agreed Clint. "Hey, how was Doom the other day?"

"I hate that guy too," said Natasha. "He gave us a monologue about his brilliance. If he spent as much time building his robots as he does writing his monologues, he might actually get somewhere."

"Good thing villains don't ever ask us for feedback," said Clint. He hesitated, knowing he was going to be mocked but needing to ask anyway, "How was Bucky?"

She sent him an amused side look. "Fine," she said. "Didn't do any monologuing."

Clint huffed a sigh. "Not exactly what I was looking for."

"I'll tell him to do more monologuing next time, then," she said. "I bet he could work out something along the lines of the joy of working for redemption."

Clint tipped his head back against his seat. "You think you're funny, but you're really not."

"I'm hilarious," she said. "You're just sensitive."

Clint couldn't think of a reply to that that wouldn't just open him up for more mockery.

After a moment, she relented. "Oh fine. He was okay. Smashed a lot of robots, followed orders, didn't frighten any civilians. Mostly managed to work with the team, although I think he kept forgetting he wasn't on his own any more." She shrugged. "Not sure what else to tell you. He wasn't hurt at all."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, I know. And how's he been the rest of the time?"

"Why don't you just ask him?" she asked.

Clint snorted. "Same reason I wouldn't ask you how you were. I'm not gonna get a straight answer."

She shook her head, but didn't deny it. "He seems fine. Comes to dinner and doesn't say a lot most days, although some days he's more upbeat. Mostly just talks to Steve, but I think he's working on interacting more with the rest of us. He took over your rooms but it's all a bit bare in there still, and I know he still sleeps in Steve and Sam's spare room when he's having a bad night. That's getting less often, though."

Clint took all that in. It was a more detailed report than he'd expected, but somehow still not enough information. He had a feeling that only having been with Bucky 24/7 for the last few weeks would have done that.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

"And, of course, he spends at least half his time on his phone, texting his absentee soulmate," she added, glancing over at him with a raised eyebrow.

Right, and there was the teasing. "He might not be texting me," said Clint. "Maybe he's playing Candy Crush."

"He gets this amused half-smile," she said. "Like he can't keep up his stoic façade but he's not sure why he's finding something funny."

"Definitely Candy Crush," said Clint, glancing away from her knowing look.

****

The doctor took way too long going over Clint's injuries before finally taking the damned cast off. She then gave him a long speech about not straining himself and making sure he took things easy and all that bull, which Clint didn't bother listening to.

When he finally escaped, Bucky was waiting for him outside, leaning against a wall and obviously trying to look casual. Seeing him again was a weird shock after weeks of texts and the occasional phone call.

Clint wasn't sure how he was meant to be greeting him, so he just gave him a grin and held up his cast-free arm. "Check it out! They set me free."

Bucky returned his smile. "You're gonna need to get some sun on that arm or risking blinding people."

Clint looked down at it. "Guess we oughta go out to the range, then," he said. He bounced on his heels with excitement. "I've been cleared to shoot my bow."

"Yeah, about that," said Bucky. "I changed the targets."

Clint stared at him. "What?"

Bucky shrugged. "I didn't need archery targets, I needed rifle ones."

"You messed with my range?" asked Clint.

"Not yours anymore," pointed out Bucky. "You can shoot at trees and cows and shit, or whatever you have on your farm."

"Yeah, okay, but-" started Clint, then stopped and just glowered. "Fucking rifle targets," he muttered.

Bucky didn't look even a little bit repentant. "Just cuz I can wipe the floor with you when it comes to guns-"

"Oh no," interrupted Clint. "No way, we haven't gone up against each other on rifles yet. Long-distance is my thing."

"All right," said Bucky. "Let's do this, then."

Being back on a range, even if he wasn't using his bow, made something inside Clint settle. He wondered what it said about him that he got tense if he hadn't used a projectile weapon for a few days, then put the thought away in favour of concentrating on making all his shots.

He and Bucky were pretty much evenly matched, which made Clint feel better about having lost when they'd been using handguns. Oh yeah, he was still the best. Well, joint best.

After nearly an hour, his arm began to ache. Right, the doctor had said he was meant to be _easing_ back into this kind of thing. Stopping now would basically be admitting defeat though, so he ignored it, and kept going.

Except it was messing with his aim. He fudged a handful of shots, putting Bucky in a clear lead, and swore to himself.

Bucky glanced at him. "You okay?"

Clint made a face. "Arm's getting worn out. We'll have to have a rematch once I'm properly healed up."

Bucky nodded, laying his gun down. "We should go up for lunch soon, anyway. I know the others all want to see you." He cleared his throat. "I guess that means I win this round, though."

Clint made a face. "Beating a guy with a bad arm isn't exactly something to boast about."

"Better a bad arm than no arm," said Bucky.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, poor little super-soldier with the killer metal arm."

"I'm feeling a distinct lack of sympathy," said Bucky. "It's almost like getting your ass kicked makes you into a whiny bitch."

"Fuck you," said Clint, cheerfully, as he started to pack up his gun.

"I think you're just proving my point," said Bucky. "At any rate, as I won, do I get a prize?"

Clint made a face. "Yeah, I guess so," he said. "Man, we're definitely going back to archery or something next time. What do you want?"

Bucky hesitated, glancing away into the woods for a moment before looking back. "I, uh. I was thinking I might go with my first impulse after our last contest. I mean, things already got complicated, no point in worrying about that any more."

It took Clint a moment to remember what he was talking about. "You want a kiss?"

"Yeah," said Bucky, then he shrugged. "Why not?" He was clearly struggling to sound casual, but it wasn't really working.

Heat burned through Clint's belly. "Yeah, seems fair," he said, his mouth going dry. "I mean, we've been activated for weeks, probably past due."

"Right," said Bucky, ducking a nod.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them moving.

Clint let out an amused laugh. "Man, we really are shit at this," he said, then reached out and put his arms around Bucky's shoulders, stepping in and bringing their mouths together.

For a moment it was just awkward as hell, Bucky tensing up like he was worrying about being assaulted, then he abruptly relaxed, putting his flesh hand on Clint's neck as he kissed him back. Just like that, everything clicked. Clint had only meant to make it a brief kiss, at least until they'd had a chance to evaluate, but he found himself falling into it too fast to even think about pulling away. Holy hell, if he'd known kissing his soulmate would feel this good, he'd have glued his lips to Bucky's the moment they activated.

"Okay," said Bucky when they pulled apart, resting his forehead against Clint's. "That's got better since 1944."

"I think maybe it's a soulmate thing," said Clint, because he'd never felt anything like that from a kiss before, and then his brain caught up with Bucky's words. "Wait, that was your first kiss since 1944?"

"I haven't exactly had a lot of opportunities," said Bucky. "Not like Hydra let their Asset go out for a night on the town or anything."

Clint hadn't really stopped to consider that he was getting involved with a guy that had been celibate since the 1940s. Oh man. "There were six months before you came here, though."

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly thinking about hooking up," said Bucky. "I don't think I even thought about anything like that until-" He paused, then looked a bit embarrassed. "Until I came here, and happened upon a guy with incredible biceps doing archery."

Clint didn't bother holding in his smug grin. "They are pretty epic biceps, right?"

Bucky's hand slipped down his shoulder to curl around one of them. "I saw you here, and I knew I should let you know I was there before you noticed me and shot me without giving me a chance, but I just couldn't stop watching you."

"I didn't shoot you," Clint pointed out. "I kinda thought you were a hobo to start with."

Bucky snorted. "Flattering, thanks. I spent half an hour watching you, feeling attraction for the first time in decades, and you thought I was a tramp."

"Half an hour?" asked Clint. He hadn't thought his biceps were that epic.

Bucky shrugged, looking awkward. "I like watching you shoot."

Clint remembered another time when he'd spotted Bucky watching him from up a tree. God, that had only been a week or two after he'd got there. "I kinda want to kiss you again."

"I'm not about to make you win another contest first," said Bucky, which was enough of an invitation for Clint. He kissed him again, sliding his arm down to circle his waist.

One kiss blended into several. Bucky's hand tightened around Clint's and his metal arm wrapped around his back, keeping him close. Clint wondered if he should be concerned about that, but the strength was reassuring rather than worrying.

Bucky's real hand trailed down Clint's arm to his elbow, then Clint felt him hesitate. "Can I?" asked Bucky.

Clint knew exactly what he was asking. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay."

Bucky slide his finger down to Clint's print at the same time as he kissed him again and a flood of affection ran through Clint's mind, edged with a shimmer of arousal that made his skin tingle. Christ, no wonder most newly activated couples ended up having a whole load of sex.

He pushed the arm he had around Bucky's waist under his shirt, running it around along his skin until he found his print. Bucky sucked in a gasp as they linked, then deepened the kiss.

For a few heartbeats, it felt like they were at the eye of an intense storm of emotion, then Bucky abruptly let go, talking a step back. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry, just-"

"It's pretty intense," agreed Clint, rubbing his palm over his print. The sudden loss of connection had left an empty feeling in its place.

"Yeah," agreed Bucky. He ran a hand through his hair, looking unsettled. "I'm not- it's over-whelming. Like I'm losing myself again."

"Hey," said Clint, reaching out to touch his hand then making himself pull back, in case that was too much as well. "I get it. We don't have to do it any more if you don't want to."

It didn't feel anything like what Loki had done to him. That had been a sharp blue light that severed all the connections in his head that made him feel anything, blocking it all out with a desperate desire to follow Loki's orders. Having Bucky's affection wash over him almost felt like the opposite of that.

But Bucky's brainwashing experience had been different to his. Clint could understand not wanting to have someone else's emotions crowding over you if you were only just starting to get yours back.

Bucky shook his head. "No, I want to. Just- in small doses, yeah? Until I can convince myself it's not the same as being wiped."

"Whatever you want," said Clint. "You just let me know." He hesitated, then added, "Do you mind me reading you? I only do it sometimes, but I can stop if you want."

Bucky shook his head. "No, that's fine. I mean, if you're okay with what's going on in here. It's a mess a lot of the time."

Clint shook his head. "You're a lot more together than I think you realise. Given just how much shit you went through, you should be so much more messed up than you are."

Bucky shook his head. "If you think so," he said, doubtfully. "At any rate, it would be pretty hypocritical of me to tell you not to read me when I read you as much as I do."

Clint blinked. He hadn't really considered that Bucky might be keeping an eye on his emotional state as well. "That must be pretty dull," he said. "Not a lot going on at the farm to stimulate my emotions."

"Nah, it's not dull," said Bucky, "You always seem to be relaxed and, I don't know, content, I guess. It's kinda soothing."

Clint didn't know how to react to that. He shrugged. "Clearly you didn't read me while I was trying to rehang the curtains after I washed them. Fucking tricky as hell with only one arm, I was swearing the whole time."

"Why didn't you just wait until you got the cast off?" asked Bucky, picking their guns up and nodding towards the base

Clint shrugged as they started to head in. "Matter of pride? Can't let a set of curtains get the best of the Incredible Hawkeye."

"You could have just shot them," suggested Bucky.

"Don't think I didn't consider it," said Clint. "Fucking things."

****

It was a few hours later before Clint asked Natasha to fly him back. He'd had lunch with the whole team and caught up on all the important gossip, like who was still behind on _Dog Cops_ , who had been the one to punch Doom in the face, and how many times Sue Storm had been kidnapped since he'd left. Afterwards, he'd sat in the lounge for a bit with Bucky, Steve, Sam and Natasha, telling them how things were going at the farm, and planning the epic barbecue he was going to have once he had it all fixed up.

"Now I've got my arm back, I should be able to fix up all the guest rooms, so you can all stay over," he said. "Gimme a couple of weeks, and we'll be on."

"Unless there's a supervillain attack," put in Sam.

"Pessimist," said Clint.

Sam shrugged. "Just saying. Those bastards have the worst timing."

"Well, you just took down Doom, so he'll be quiet for a bit," said Clint. "Who else are regulars?" He glanced at Natasha. "Have Hydra done much since we blew up their base?"

She shook her head. "There's been nothing from them, not even rumours. Looks like we crippled them pretty badly."

Clint grinned. "Cuz we're awesome," he said, and held his hand up for a high five. She just stared at him, so he turned to Bucky. "C'mon, mission buddy, show me some love."

Bucky sent him an even less impressed stare, but did, reluctantly, raise his hand and high five him.

"See, that's how it's done," said Clint, giving Natasha a look.

"You're ridiculous," said Bucky, sounding faintly disbelieving, as if not sure how he found himself in this position.

Clint just shrugged. "You're the one that linked with me, what does that say about you?"

"Bucky's been ridiculous since before your dad was born," said Steve. "I guess he was just waiting for someone who could match that before he activated."

"Well, that doesn't make me sound like a cradle-snatcher at all," said Bucky.

Steve shrugged. "It's not like I'm not in the same situation."

Clint glanced over at Sam. "You feeling uncomfortable too?"

Sam grimaced and nodded back.

"And you think it's weird that I'm linked to a guy who turns into the Hulk," said Natasha, shaking her head.

"To be fair, that is weird," said Clint. "Just, in a different way."

"Hey, could be worse," said Steve. "I mean, can you imagine being linked to Tony?"

There was a pause while everyone contemplated that, and then shuddered.

"Yeah, I'll take creepy age differences over that any day," said Clint.

"It's not _creepy_ ," muttered Bucky. "I mean, I'm physically younger than you."

Clint shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm an old guy," he said. "Retired, remember? I'm getting a pension already." A really nice pension, all told. Clint had kinda expected not to be getting anything, given that SHIELD had gone bust and taken his financial security with it, but it turned out that the Avengers contract he'd scrawled his name across without reading way back when Tony first got Pepper to be all organised about shit had included a whole bunch of stuff about medical plans, pensions and other dull financial shit that Clint had never really thought about.

"So, you're both cradle-snatchers?" said Sam, looking between Bucky and Clint.

Bucky shrugged. "I guess it's good to have things in common."

Sam shook his head. “Not sure that kind of thing counts.”

When Clint couldn't put off leaving any longer, Bucky walked with him and Natasha backed to the quinjet, hands buried in his pockets and his head down so that his hair hung down to cover his face.

"Guess I'll see you in a couple of weeks," said Clint once they'd got to the plane and Natasha had quietly disappeared inside to leave them to say goodbye, with the excuse of starting the pre-flight checks.

"Yeah," said Bucky. "You gonna have a range set up by then?

"Are you kidding?" said Clint. "That's pretty much the first thing I'm going to do once I get back."

"I'll be ready to kick your ass, then," said Bucky.

Clint scoffed. "Yeah, we'll see."

There was a pause, then Bucky took a deep breath and held his fist up. "See you around, Barton."

Clint found a smile. "See you around, Barnes," he said, tapping his fist against Bucky's.

****

Knowing that Bucky was reading him fairly often and was expecting his emotions to have a calming influence felt like a lot of pressure. Clint found himself trying to force himself to be in a relaxed mood, which was pretty much doomed to failure.

Bucky texted him after a couple of days just saying, _You worry too much. You're fine._

Clint was half way through getting his new range set up, but he paused for long enough to read Bucky in return. There was a veil of amusement over his emotions that Clint strongly suspected was aimed at him. Right, okay, maybe he needed to just get on with what he was doing and stop panicking that he wasn't being chilled enough, or whatever. If Bucky read him while he was swearing at DIY, that was his problem.

Now that he had both arms back, he was able to start properly clearing things out, making the place look less derelict. He pulled his family's old barbecue out of one of the outbuildings and cleaned it up, then realised it was more rust than metal. Might be time to just buy a new one. A nice big one, so they can cook enough meet for the whole team, super-soldiers and all.

The next couple of days were pretty miserable weather, so he spent them cleaning up the spare rooms in the house. He was hoping he'd be able to work out a way to provide enough beds for everyone, but he had a feeling at least a couple of them would have to sleep in the barn.

Now that he knew had permission, he couldn't seem to keep his finger off his print. Bucky's mood ranged around a lot, but there was only a couple of times when it felt like he was coming to pieces.

Clint called him whenever he felt like that, talking to him about stupid shit until he felt him calm down. That was easy enough.

The really awkward one was when he was lying in bed one morning, thinking about getting up but not sure he could be bothered just yet. He idly reached over to touch his print and got an immediate burst of arousal and desperate need that burnt through his mind and straight down to his cock.

He tore his finger off his mark and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Oh Christ, Bucky was masturbating.

He should probably just pretend he hadn't felt that. Right?

Was he thinking about Clint while he was doing it?

Nope. Probably not. No way.

Except... they were soulmates. Soulmates who hadn't done more than kiss a couple of times. It would only be natural for him to be thinking about Clint while he jerked off. Clint certainly thought about Bucky when he was having a moment, but then, he'd been thinking about Bucky like that since before they activated.

Clint's finger itched to go back to his print. He balled his hand into a fist to stop it. He couldn't get off on Bucky masturbating without him knowing. That was creepy, right?

God, he was so turned on right now. He couldn't stop his hand finding its way down to press on his erection, and then sneak inside his pants. 

Maybe he should text Bucky and ask if it was okay for Clint to read him like this. And let him know that it was totally okay for him to read Clint at the same time.

The idea of Bucky listening in on Clint's arousal as he jerked off was ridiculously hot. Clint's fingers tightened around his cock and he started to stroke, telling himself that this was fine, it wasn't like he didn't do this fairly often at this time of day anyway, nothing creepy about it.

It was probably way too late to text Bucky now; Clint really doubted he'd pause to read a text. Maybe next time. They could arrange it in advance, both of them reading each other's arousal as they got themselves off, miles apart but still sharing the same moment.

Fuck, that was such a hot idea. Clint came wondering if Bucky ever jerked off with his metal hand, and what that would feel like on his skin.

He lay there for a couple of moments, then couldn't keep himself from reaching for his print.

Bucky's emotions were calm and a bit blank, satisfaction rolling through him. Clint couldn't keep in a grin. Yeah, he knew that feeling. Hell, he was feeling that feeling.

His phone beeped and he reached out for it.

_Was it good for you too?_

Apparently Bucky didn't have the same qualms Clint had had about listening in. Which meant he'd been reading Clint at the same time as jerking off, so he'd felt all of Clint's arousal.

Clint wasn't sure whether to be amused, aroused, or awkward about that. Bucky was still feeling pretty laid back, although there was a thread of nervousness starting to come through.

 _Next time we should actually plan that,_ he sent back.

The nervousness died away, replaced by warmth and anticipation.

_Compare diaries and find a good time for a quick wank? The future is weird._

_The future is awesome_ , said Clint. _We've got Dog Cops._

 _Everyone's obsession with that show is the weirdest part,_ Bucky sent back.

Clint didn't know how to deal with a statement that wrong, so he pulled himself out of bed and went to shower instead. Oh yeah, they were definitely doing that again when Clint didn't have to worry about taking liberties.

****

Once Clint had got his range set up, he spent at least an hour every day there, practising to get himself back to the top of his game as his arm slowly strengthened. He was probably pushing it too much, especially if the ache he got by the end of every day was any indication, but he'd never been the kind to sit around nursing his injuries. Just because he was retired didn't mean he had to stop being the best, right?

He was on the range about two weeks after he'd got rid of the cast, thinking that he'd probably be ready for the guys to come over next weekend. It wasn't as if they weren't all used to roughing it, after all, and he could probably rope at least some of them into helping him clear all the rubbish out of the barn. How badly would Steve object to him using the quinjet to take it the dump?

His phone rang and he set his bow down to pull it out. It was Steve.

"Hey, Cap," he answered it. "What's going down?"

Steve's voice was deadly serious. "Hawkeye, I need you to read Bucky. Right now."

Clint's finger immediately went to his print, fear surging through him. Bucky's emotions were muted, as if they were coming to him through a concrete wall.

"He's not conscious," he said.

"Shit," said Steve, which was the only time Clint had ever heard him swear. Fear was rapidly becoming all out terror.

"What's going on?"

"They got him," said Steve. "I'm so sorry, Clint. Hydra got him."

It felt like Clint was falling into a black pit. Everything went blank for a moment, until all he could hear was the rough sound of his own breathing. He pressed his finger harder against his print, but there was still nothing from Bucky, nothing other than numbness.

"How?" he asked, throwing his bow over his shoulder and heading for the house, leaving a handful of arrows still in his target.

"They separated us," said Steve. "I didn't even see it coming - stupid! They got the Wrecking Crew to distract us, then isolated him. By the time we realised they were there, it was too late."

"We have to find him," said Clint.

"Vision, Falcon and War Machine are doing an aerial search. Widow's trying to track down any surveillance they might have been caught on so we can at least find out what kind of vehicle they're in," said Steve. "We'll get him back. Keep your finger on his print, let me know if anything changes."

"Yeah, of course," said Clint. "Steve, I need to be there. I can't just wait."

There was a hesitation. "Your arm-"

"Screw my fucking arm," said Clint. "And screw retirement. I need to be there, Steve. If it was Sam-"

Steve took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll get someone to come out with a quinjet to pick you up."

"Thanks," said Clint. "Any news-"

"I'll let you know," promised Steve. "See you soon."

He hung up and Clint pushed the phone in his pocket, keeping his finger on his print. He ran up the stairs to his bedroom, pulling the bag he'd tossed in the back of the closet out. He hadn't thought he'd need any of this stuff again, but that didn't mean it wasn't ready.

Getting suited up meant he had to take his figure off his print but he touched it often enough as he did so to know nothing was changing for Bucky. What the hell did Hydra have that could knock out a super-soldier?

And what the hell were they going to do to him when he woke up?

Clint took a deep breath, trying to shut away his emotions. He needed to focus. He wasn't going to help Bucky by going to pieces all over the place.

There was a shudder from Bucky's emotions, as if he was starting to pull up from the depths of the ocean. Fear started to seep through, followed by pain and anger.

God, if only Clint could send and receive more than emotions with him. If they could share thoughts, he'd be able to find out where he was, let him know that they were all coming for him and were going to take apart anyone who got in the way.

Bucky didn't make it to consciousness, though. There was a sudden shift in the pain he was feeling, then all the emotions were shut off again, covered over by the heavy blanket of unconsciousness. They must have given him more drugs.

By the time Sam arrived in a quinjet, Clint was outside waiting for him. He had left off his right arm guard so that he could keep his finger pressed to his print, but apart from that he was completely suited up, every weapon he could find tucked away on his person.

He jumped on the quinjet the moment it was on the ground.

"Hey," said Sam, looking grim. Clint nodded back, shutting the door behind him, and they took off.

"We going to the scene?" asked Clint.

Sam shook his head. "Wanda and Vision are still there in case something comes up, but the trail's cold. Natasha went to Stark to see if he can find anything on surveillance. Everyone else is back at the Base. Hill has got all her people putting out feelers, trying to see where they'd have taken him."

Clint nodded. The last he'd heard, the destruction of the base that he, Natasha and Bucky had blown up had been thought to have crippled Hydra in this area. Clearly, that had been wrong, but it meant they had no idea where any other bases close by might be. Or were they taking Bucky miles away, to another continent? There were still dozens of tiny bases scattered all over Europe and Russia, far too many for them to check them all. How were they ever meant to find him?

He kept his finger pressed to his print for the whole flight. Somewhere over Lake Erie, Bucky started to wake up again, confusion pushing out of the fog as Clint pressed his finger down hard enough to leave a nail mark in his skin. A minute or two later, he was gone again.

Clint couldn't keep himself from making a noise as the curtains came back down over Bucky's emotions, and Sam glanced over.

“They keep drugging him,” said Clint, dully.

Sam grimaced, but didn't say anything. Probably a good thing. Clint wasn't sure what there was to say.

****

When they landed at the base, they went straight in to where Steve was pacing in front of a screen showing a map, still dressed in his uniform but with his cowl down, hair ruffled as if he'd been running his fingers through it.

Sam went straight to him and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Steve's eyes went straight to Clint.

"Anything?"

Clint shook his head. "He's still unconscious. Every time he starts to come to, they knock him out again."

Steve scowled and turned back to the map. "We'll find him," he said, with more confidence than Clint thought he was probably feeling. After all, it had taken seventy years for them to get him back last time.

"Where are we at?" he asked, rather than lingering on that.

Steve took him through the current state of the search and Clint threw himself into it, liaising with Natasha as she and Tony searched electronically, trying to pin down any transportation out of the area that looked suspect. Clint started going through some of the data they'd pulled up, sending Vision out to investigate a couple of trucks whose manifests didn't quite tally up only find that they were merely hiding drugs.

Hours passed with no news. Clint kept his finger pressed to his print, but nothing changed for Bucky either.

"We should have put a tracker on him," he said to Steve when they'd taken a brief break to grab some coffee. "We knew they were after him."

Steve shook his head. "We shouldn't have let him get separated like that." He gritted his teeth, then let out a frustrated noise and punched the wall. "God damn it, we should have been watching for this."

 _I should have been there,_ thought Clint. If he'd been fighting with them, he'd have been watching Bucky's back. Instead, he'd been hundreds of miles away, shooting arrows at a target rather than at Hydra agents.

He really was the most useless soulmate. Why the hell had Bucky been saddled with him? Clint should never have left him.

He took a gulp of coffee then set his finger back on his print. Bucky was beginning to wake up again, confusion starting to press up out of the mess of his drugged mind. Clint wondered how long it would be before Hydra drugged him again.

"I'm sorry," said Steve.

Clint was concentrating so hard on Bucky's emotions that it took him a moment to realise what he'd said. "It's not your fault."

Steve shook his head. "I shoulda been keeping an eye on him. I just- I keep letting him down."

"No," said Clint. "C'mon, Steve, this isn't on you." The confusion started to merge into fear.

Steve shook his head. "My best friend, and this is the third time I've let him get taken by Hydra."

"We're going to get him back," said Clint. "Right?"

Steve let out a sigh. "Right," he said. His shoulders straightened and he gave a nod. "And Hydra will regret ever even setting eyes on him."

"Damn straight," said Clint. There was pain lingering along the edges of Bucky's mind now, and then there was a sudden surge of anger that cleared the fog away. Bucky's emotions came back with sparkling clarity, rage layered over fear tinged with a sickening sense of inevitability.

"He's awake," he said. Steve took a step closer to him as if he could reach out through Clint to Bucky.

"How is he?"

Clint shook his head. "Pissed," he said. "Trying to pretend he's not scared. I don't think they've hurt him much."

There was a spark of recognition, followed by a more intense burst of rage and a sinking sense of hopelessness.

"They'll want him in one piece," said Steve, grimly.

Clint nodded, only half paying attention. "I'm not getting anything that reads like he can see a way out."

"Then we'll have to go get him," said Steve, firmly. "Come on, let's see if anything new has come up."

Clint followed him back into the ops room and settled down in a chair with his finger still against his print. He was aware of Steve filling the others in, but his focus wasn't on the room.

There was a surge of pain from Bucky followed by impotent rage, then a frustrated burst of aggression. Whatever was happening to him wasn't good. Clint pulled his legs up so that he could rest his forehead on his knees and shut his eyes to focus properly.

Fear was beginning to build up now, drowning out all of Bucky's other emotions. Even the anger was forced out as the terror began to take over everything, filling Clint's mind almost as much as it must have been filling Bucky's. At the moment that it tipped over into blind panic, Clint heard himself suck in a strangled breath.

"Clint?" asked Steve, from what felt like miles away.

Clint shook his head, half-drowning in Bucky's flight-or-fight panicked aggression.

"It's not good," he choked out.

There was a sudden spike of pain followed by sick dread, and then an explosion of absolutely blinding pain, as if Bucky's whole mind was on fire.

Clint couldn't keep in a cry at the power of it and ripped his finger away from his print, looking up at Steve. "They're hurting him."

Steve looked very pale and he swallowed. "We'll get him back," he said, but he didn't sound as confident as he had in the kitchen.

Clint hesitated before reading Bucky again, but forced himself to do it. After all, whatever pain came through to him was only a fraction of what Bucky was actually feeling.

The pain lasted for several long minutes. When it finally died down, what it left behind was worse. It was as if a diamond-hard shell had come down over Bucky's emotions, sealing them all away so that Clint couldn't feel them. He wasn't even sure they were there.

"Oh god," he muttered.

"What? How is he?" asked Steve.

Clint took his finger off his print, shaking his head. "I don't think he's Bucky anymore."

Steve's face crumpled and he turned away to where Sam was standing, curling to press his forehead against his shoulder as Sam put his arms around him.

Clint looked away, swallowing back a sick feeling. It didn't seem like he was ever going to have that with his soulmate, not now. God, why the hell did they think they had time to take things slowly?That's not how things worked for Clint. He should have learnt by now that anything good in his life wouldn't last and he needed to take full advantage while he had it.

"They wiped him?" asked a voice and Clint glanced up to see that Tony was on the screen, standing in his workshop with Natasha behind him.

"Definitely feels like it," said Clint.

Tony grabbed up a tablet. "Okay, that means they're somewhere with one of those chairs, right?" He started tapping. "They take a lot of energy to run, there'll have been a surge, I can check the grid and get a location, let me just..."

He turned away, calling up one of his holographic interfaces and spouting off technical terms at his AI.

"Okay, nothing in the US for the right period of time,” he said after a few minutes, “but let me just broaden it..."

"What if they've got their own generator?" asked Natasha.

Tony shook his head, "Nah, no way. These things take _massive_ amounts of energy, they'd need their own power station. Which, okay, they might have, but we could probably track that down as well, they're not exactly subtle, and wait, hang on...got them. They're in Manitoba."

Steve turned on his heel. "Everyone get your stuff, we're leaving as soon as everyone's ready. Tony, get us the closest coordinates you can."

"On it," said Tony, with a little salute.

"Natasha," continued Steve, "Get back here as soon as you can. Sam, call the others, get them back here."

"I'll give Natasha a lift," said Tony. "If she doesn't mind Iron Man Airways."

Steve frowned at him. "Tony, you don't-"

"Stop," said Tony, holding up a hand. "You're nuts if you think I'm sitting this one out. Us retired guys are going to show you how it's done, right, Barton?"

"Are you sure, Tony?" asked Steve. "I know you're not a fan of Bucky."

Tony shook his head. "Seriously? You really think I'm gonna flake out on a guy who is your best bro and Clint's soulmate, not to mention an Avenger? Hell no. We need to make sure people know they can't fuck with us like this, and that means smacking these bastards back into the stone age. I'm coming."

Clint stood up, hand tightening around his bow. "They're not going to know what hit them."

****

Clint checked on Bucky every few minutes as they flew up to the north of Manitoba, finger pressing against his print for just long enough to feel the hard shell where his emotions should be. He kept hoping that he'd feel some sign that Bucky was breaking through the brainwashing, but there was nothing. He wasn't sure why he thought there would be. It had kept him under Hydra's thumb for seventy years, how the hell was he meant to break it in less than an hour now?

Sam sat next to him on the quinjet, knee pressed against Clint's. He didn't speak until they were nearly there, just after Clint had checked on Bucky yet again.

"You know we may have to fight him, right?" he said, carefully.

Clint nodded grimly. "Don't worry, I'm not going to get fluffy about it. If he's there, and fighting for them, we take him down as quickly as possible. We can deal with getting _him_ back once we've got him _back_."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"And then I'm gonna fucking handcuff myself to him so this doesn't happen again," added Clint.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Kinky."

Tony had managed to narrow the area down to a few square miles, which he and Rhodey flew search patterns over as the AI checked for heat signatures and other anomalies that might indicate a base.

"Got it," said Rhodey. "Looks like it's all underground, but I can see an entrance."

"On our way," said Natasha, who was flying the quinjet.

"Oh, yeah, it's definitely them," said Rhodey a moment later. "I'm taking fire."

"I got your back," said Tony.

Clint gripped his bow impatiently, glancing out the window as Natasha brought them in to land. Steve had the door open before they'd even landed, jumping out and throwing his shield, followed by himself, at the guards.

The others all rushed out after him, Clint hanging back so that he could get some shots off. There were only a handful of guards outside and once they were wiped out, Tony sent a repulsor blast at the door, bursting it open.

They charged in, barely pausing to take down a unit that had set themselves up just inside the door. Clint sent an explosive arrow down the stairs that descended into the ground, then followed it a moment later.

There weren't that many Hydra agents in the base, and there certainly weren't any who had a hope of standing up against the all the Avengers when they were this pissed off. They tore through the base in next to no time, descending down until they found the level with a handful of labs.

A scientist came out of one of them, took one look at the pissed-off Captain America heading his way, turned white and immediately tried to run. Clint put an arrow through his shoulder.

Steve grabbed him up as he crumpled to the floor and threw him back against a wall, holding him in place with one hand. "Where is he?"

"Where's who?" the man asked in a whimper.

"Bucky," said Steve. "Where's Bucky Barnes?"

The scientist shook his head. "I don't know who-"

"The Winter Soldier," said Clint. "The Asset. Whatever the fuck you're calling him to try and avoid the fact that he's a real person."

The scientist's eyes widened. "He left!" he said. "They were only here half an hour, an hour tops. They used the chair, then they left again."

Clint punched the wall nearest him. God damn it. They'd missed him.

"Who's they?" asked Steve.

The scientist shook his head. "I don't know. They had very high clearance, we were told just to get out of their way."

"Where did they take him?" asked Clint. “Where's this chair?”

The scientist waved down the corridor. "The room at the end."

Clint left Steve to threaten the guy with what would happen if he didn't tell them everything he knew. Captain America was way more intimidating for that kind of thing than Clint was.

The room was a concrete box, containing nothing other than the chair itself, a huge metal monstrosity. He touched his fingers to it, thinking about Bucky being strapped down and put through all that pain, until he was wiped away and only their tame assassin remained.

What had they done with him then? Spirited him off somewhere else, apparently. God, how were they ever going to find him now that he didn't know he wanted to be found? Clint's foot chinked against something lying on the floor and he crouched to pick it up.

It was an Avengers keyring with a deep dent in it where a bullet had hit it once.

Clint stared at it, emotion rising up in his chest. Oh god, Bucky had kept it. And apparently taken it with him on missions. God, that had been before they'd activated.

For a moment Clint thought he wasn't going to be able to keep it all in, then he took a deep breath and stood up, tucking the keyring away in his own pocket. He'd keep it until he could give it back to Bucky.

****

It was a subdued trip back. Tony took all the files he could off Hydra's systems, then they blew the base up and he took off for New York, promising to keep searching for anything that might point to where they'd taken Bucky.

The rest of them flew back to the base with a handful of Hydra prisoners. By the time they arrived, it was late and everyone was exhausted. 

“I'm gonna make some dinner,” said Natasha to Clint. “Want some?”

Clint just shook his head. “Not hungry,” he said, and slipped away. He wasn't sure he could deal with being around anyone right now, not when he felt like he was only hanging on with the tips of his fingers.

His feet took him automatically to the door of what had been his rooms but were now Bucky's. He paused for a moment, then gave in to temptation and went inside.

Natasha's description of them as pretty empty wasn't wrong. Without all Clint's bows leaning against the walls and his other crap spread out over every surface, it looked very bare. The purple beanbag chair had been moved closer to the TV, which Clint wholeheartedly approved of, but apart from that, the only sign that anyone had been here was a hoodie neatly folded over the back of the sofa. Clint stroked a hand over it but didn't pick it up.

He went through into the bedroom where there was slightly more to say that someone lived here. There was an ink drawing on the wall next to the bed that Clint recognised as one of Steve's. It was a city skyline that it took him a moment to realise was New York in the 1940s, as seen from Brooklyn. Balanced on a shelf next to it where Clint used to keep his ever-increasing collection of broken hearing aids and the chargers for all the various gadgets that he hadn't yet lost was an arrow that he must have left behind when he moved out. He wondered if that meant anything more than that Bucky had found it and didn't want to throw it out.

The bed had been neatly made, which must have been a bit of a shock for it. Clint didn't think it had been made once in the entire time he'd lived there. He sat down on it, looking around the room and wondering what it would have looked like if Clint had stayed here instead of leaving. Would Bucky have still moved in? Would his apparent neat-streak have kept Clint's general chaos in order, or would he have just let it happen?

Clint shook his head, throwing the thoughts out. No point in dealing with what might have been, he needed to focus on what was. He touched his finger to his print then pulled it away when all he felt was the hard nothing that meant Bucky was still brain-washed.

He wondered what Bucky could feel from him now. The same as he always could, or did the brainwashing hide that from him somehow? Would he even know to try it? Clint seriously doubted that the Winter Soldier was programmed to think about soulmates, let alone consider he might have his own.

Would Hydra know that he'd activated since they'd last had him? Bucky's print wasn't exactly on display, after all. What would they do if they did see it? Tony hadn't been wrong when he'd suggested that Clint would be a great hostage to force Bucky to toe their line, but it wasn't as if they needed much help with that. Maybe they'd think it was more important to just kill him and eradicate any chance of him influencing Bucky against them.

Okay, this wasn't getting him anywhere. Tony was going to track Bucky down, or Wanda would manage to pull the info out of one of their prisoners' brains, or Hydra would make a mistake, and Clint needed to be rested for that.

He pulled off enough of his clothes so that he'd be able to sleep, pulled apart Bucky's neatly made bed and crawled in, ignoring the vague feeling that he was taking a liberty. Fuck it, if Bucky didn't want him there, he could come and tell him that. 

He took out his hearing aids and put them on the bedside table, then shut his eyes. Something sharp and hard was digging into his thigh. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the keyring, stared at it for a moment then put it with his aids and forced himself to go to sleep rather than lying awake fretting.

****

He didn't sleep well. He had several nightmares that jolted him awake, most of them about Bucky. The last one was one of his subconscious's old favourites about his dad, and when he woke up from it, he didn't bother trying to get back to sleep. It was early, but not so early that he couldn't pretend it was morning.

He put his finger on his print. No change. He couldn't even tell if Bucky was asleep or not. Did they let him sleep, or just run him until he collapsed and then freeze him?

Clint made himself get up rather than dwelling on it, heading for the ops room by way of the kitchen so that he at least had some coffee, even if there was no news.

Steve was already in there, along with Hill and a handful of her agents, and Wanda. “What's happening?” asked Clint.

“Not much, I'm afraid,” said Steve. “Wanda did manage to get one of the scientists to identify one of the men that Bucky was with, but it's not good news.”

He nodded at the screen, and someone put up a mugshot for him.

Clint took one look at it and swore. “Fucking Rumlow,” he said. “He's meant to be dead!”

“It's not the first time he's proved us wrong on that one,” said Steve.

Clint shook his head. “I stuck a knife in him, Bucky just about choked him half to death, and then we blew up the damn building he was in! Fucking asshole. I swear, I'm going to start cutting off the heads of my enemies just so I can be damn sure they're actually dead.”

Hill cleared her throat. “That might be a bit drastic, and I'm not sure it would be good for PR.”

“Fuck PR,” muttered Clint. “All right, fine. Do we know where the fucker might have taken Bucky? Any ideas at all? Anything that even looks like a lead?”

“I'm afraid not,” said Hill. “We are still looking, through.”

“We'll find him,” said Steve.

Clint just nodded at him and glanced around at all the agents looking busy. Fuck, this had never been his scene. He wasn't the guy you called for this part, he was the guy you called once you had a location and you just needed to point a weapon at it.

“Okay, call me if anything comes up,” he said, and escaped up to the roof. This was the worst bit; sitting around waiting to find out just how shit things were going to get.

It wasn't until he was up there that he realised Wanda had followed him up. She didn't say anything though, she just settled beside him on the roof and looked out over the trees as he drank his coffee. 

On the quinjet pad a couple of engineers were doing something to one of the planes, and Clint could see Vision off near the treeline, looking up at something Clint couldn't make out. A bird or something, he thought. After the quiet of the farm it was nice having other people around, even if he didn't want to talk to any of them right now.

“We will get him back,” said Wanda, just as Clint was finishing his coffee and thinking about heading back to the kitchen for more, and maybe some food as well. His finger had crept towards his print again, but he didn't touched it. He didn't want to feel that again just yet.

“Sure,” he said, trying to sound upbeat. “Earth's Mightiest Heroes, right? Nothing we can't do.”

She shook her head. “That's not true. We've both known losses that the team was unable to prevent.”

Clint felt his shoulders cave in. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, giving up on pretending he believed this was going to end well. It wasn't like he'd been convincing anyone.

“We will get Barnes back, though,” she said, with a confidence Clint didn't feel. “Perhaps even he will get himself back. He is your soulmate, after all.”

Clint shook his head. “Doesn't mean jack,” he said. “Soulmate, best friend, some guy we just met. There are no guarantees.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “Soulmates is a guarantee,” she said stubbornly. “My parents were soulmates. Before Pietro and I were born, there was a war and they were separated. My father though they would never find each other again, but my mother believed. She found her way back to him, and they were married.”

 _And then they died together_ , thought Clint, but he didn't say it. He tipped his head back, half-closing his eyes against the sun shining on his face. “My parents weren't soulmates,” he said. “I can't say that either of them would have tried too hard to get back to each other if they'd been separated, but I don't think we can use that as an argument that this'll be fine.”

If Bucky didn't remember Clint, how was he meant to know he should be trying to get back to him?

Wanda shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” She stared down the grounds. “I don't have a soulprint, you know.”

Clint turned to look at her, feeling himself flinch and then hating himself. Just because his dad had used his lack of a soulprint as an excuse to be an asshole didn't mean everyone else without one would. “You don't?”

She shook her head. “Pietro didn't have one either. We always thought that meant we didn't need soulmates because we had each other, but now I wonder if it means something else.” She nodded downwards and Clint followed her gaze to see Vision. He'd turned away from the trees and caught sight of them, and raised a hand in greeting.

Clint waved back automatically, his mind desperately trying to accept that. Vision and Wanda? Christ, had a lot happened while he'd been gone or had he been walking around with his eyes shut before that?

“I wanted to ask,” said Wanda, sounding hesitant. “You and Bucky. You took a while to activate, yes?”

“Yeah,” said Clint shortly, feeling himself tense at the reminder.

“Because when he touched you it was with his metal arm?” she pressed.

Clint looked at her, realising what she was asking. “Yeah,” he said. “Well, I mean, it doesn't work through clothes either, right? Got to be fingerprint to flesh.”

“Fingerprint to flesh,” she repeated, looking back down at Vision and his metal body. “Yes.”

Before Clint could come up with a response to that which wasn't _Seriously? An android?!_ , there was an explosion from somewhere down the access road, followed by shouts. He turned to look, but Wanda grabbed his arm, gesturing behind them. "Look!"

There was a fleet of helicopters coming in low over the trees, a mix of fighters and troop carriers.

"Shit," said Clint, his mind automatically flashing to where he'd left his bow, in Bucky's bedroom. Too far away.

One of the helicopters roared over the quinjet pad, dropping a bomb that landed straight on the plane there. The two engineers working on it were blown through the air by the explosion but Clint couldn't spare any attention for them because a helicopter was coming in towards him and Wanda, guns rattling bullets across the roof towards them.

Wanda had wreathed her hands in red fire but they didn't have time for that. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her towards the hatch. "Come on!"

She sent a ball of fire at the jet that caught it on the side but didn't stop it, and then they ran, two metres ahead of the hail of bullets, one metre ahead, half a metre, shit they weren't going to make it.

There was a crash and the bullets veered away from them. Thank fuck. Clint didn't stop to look at what was going on, he just threw himself at the hatch, pulling it open as Wanda dived down the ladder. As he followed her, he saw that Vision had flown at the helicopter, laser cutting through the cockpit and sending it off into a spin.

He shut the hatch behind himself and rattled down the ladder as quickly as possible, remembering how Bucky had just dropped down it. Man, if only he could get away with that. Alarms were blaring and lights flashing red, and as he and Wanda reached the corridor, Hill's voice came over the tannoy.

"The base is under attack by a large military force. This is not a drill. All non-combat personnel should proceed immediately to the bunker. Everyone else, battle stations."

She was followed by Steve, who was even briefer. "All Avengers assemble at the main hangar."

"I need my bow," said Clint. "I'll see you there."

Wanda nodded and they dashed off in opposite directions. Clint grabbed his weapons and the body armour he hadn't bothered putting on this morning, throwing them on and then running back down to the main hangar. He could hear more explosions outside and the sound of helicopters flying overhead, guns firing. What the hell was this?


	7. Chapter 7

Clint was one of the last to get to the hangar, although half the other Avengers were still pulling on gear or strapping on weapons. Sam was tucking a comm unit in his ear and Clint belatedly remembering to switch on his own on his hearing aid. He'd thought Tony was being pointlessly optimistic when he'd told him he'd added them in on his new set, but it seemed he'd just been far-sighted.

"All units fall back from the gatehouse," Hill was saying. "Regroup on the lawn in front of the entrance by the quinjet pad."

A desperate, panicked voice broke in, gunfire in the background. "The Winter Soldier is on site! Repeat, the Winter Soldier is part of the attack!"

Clint felt his heart constrict and looked over at Steve to see the same emotions written on his face.

Steve tightened his jaw. "If Bucky attacks you, treat him as hostile but don't hurt him more than you have to," he said to the team. "If possible, keep out of his way. Let me deal with him.” He hesitated, then added, “Or Clint. We'll try and get through to him.”

How the hell were they meant to do that? How was Clint meant to pull Bucky back when he was so completely gone? He touched his print, but there was no more emotion bleeding through than there had been earlier, just a focus that didn't feel like a real emotion over the top of a hard shell.

"And if we can't?" he asked, pulling his bracer on over the top of his print.

Steve glanced at him, but didn't reply. "Falcon, War Machine, join Vision taking those choppers down. The rest of you, we need to keep back those ground troops. We're going to make these guys regret every life choice that led them here."

"Hell yeah," said Rhodey, closing his helmet. He took off, followed by Sam.

The scene outside the hangar door was a mess. Hydra had brought a handful of ground vehicles as well as the helicopters, most of which were troop trucks disgorging black-uniformed agents. More of them were coming down ropes hanging from the helicopters above, while the smaller choppers distracted the aerial Avengers from attacking them. More Hydra troops were arriving from the direction of the gatehouse and through the woods at every moment.

There was no sign of Bucky yet. He was probably still down at the gatehouse, where Hill was trying to evacuate as many of her agents as possible.

Clint sent an explosive arrow up at one of the helicopters, blowing one of the rotors apart so that it wobbled, sending agents tumbling off the ropes hanging down from it, and then went into a spin. Steve's shield went flying past him, followed by Steve, and then a ball of red fire smashed into one of the trucks, shattering the windscreen. Natasha ducked out around the side of the building, a gun in either hand as she fired at the Hydra agents who were bunching at the edge of the woods. She was heading for where a big group of ex-SHIELD agents were caught behind scattered cover in front of the entrance by the quinjet pad.

Christ, this was going to be a shitstorm. They weren't set up for this kind of pitched battle, not in terms of defences or man-power. Hydra looked like they'd be preparing for this for months. How the hell hadn't they heard about this before it came down on them?

There was a black blur and a shout, and the Winter Soldier burst through the trees, bristling with guns and shooting up at where Vision was going up against a helicopter. The bullets didn't have any effect on Vision, who shimmered so that they went through him and then landed on the roof of the chopper, but Clint wasn't looking at him. Bucky was back in goggles and the mask that covered his mouth, but even without his distinctive hair Clint thought he'd have recognised him anywhere. His heart went to his mouth, but he forced himself to keep pulling back his bow string. He had a job to do; he couldn't get distracted.

"Bucky!" called Steve, rushing towards Bucky. He was stopped by Rumlow who came out of nowhere, throwing himself at him. Steve did an impressive somersault to avoid him, then turned and kicked Rumlow firmly in the hip.

Rumlow was wearing a fancy black outfit with white bones painted on it. Clint remembered him complaining that he hadn't been picked to be an Avenger and wondered if he'd made himself his own superhero suit to make up for it. Well, the joke was on him, because Clint was always going to look better. Even putting aside Rumlow's bizarre attempt at a logo, purple always trumped any other costume choice.

Bucky ignored the fight between Rumlow and Steve, rushing by to take on a knot of Hill's agents who were advancing on one of Hydra's trucks. He didn't even glance at Steve and Clint felt ice freeze his guts at the sign that he hadn't recognised him. If he didn't recognise Steve, there was no chance he was going to recognise Clint.

Steve was pinned down fighting Rumlow, which Clint guessed meant it was up to him to try and engage Bucky. He sent a flurry of arrows out as he sprinted over to him, but two Hydra agents attacked him before he could get there and by the time he'd taken them down it was too late. All of the agents Bucky had targeted were down and Bucky was already moving on, towards where Wanda was crouched with two other agents, sending red fire and bullets at the trees where more Hydra agents were massing. Where the hell did they get so many soldiers? They must have a really effective recruitment strategy.

Bucky shot the agents with Wanda without breaking his stride. She turned to meet him, a red shield shimmering around her that deflected his bullets.

“Stand down!” Clint heard her say over the comms. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

Bucky's expression didn't change as he punched at the shield with his metal arm, making it shimmer. Wanda flinched and her hands came up as if to steady it.

Clint needed to get to her before either Bucky broke through or Wanda was forced to defend herself in a way that hurt Bucky. He sprinted across the battlefield, pushing an arrow through the throat of a Hydra soldier that tried to get in his way. 

Just as he was getting close enough to shout out Bucky's name, there was an explosion from his left, sending him flying back towards the base. He landed with a hard impact, rolling with his bow cradled to him to avoid damaging it. Ow, ow, ow, that was going to be a whole series of impressive bruises tomorrow.

If he made it to tomorrow.

He got up in time to see Wanda's shield shatter and Bucky launch himself at her, ducking away as she sent a shot of fire at him. There was a knife in his hand and he slashed at her face. Shit, her hand-to-hand skills weren't up to taking on the Winter Soldier.

“All units, retreat inside the base!” came Hill's voice over the comms. “We can't win this out in the open. Get inside and defend all the entrances!”

Bullets peppered the lawn, tearing up the grass and Clint was forced to duck behind a piece of quinjet debris as a helicopter went overhead, pursued by War Machine. God, Hill was right. They were getting their asses handed to them.

He couldn't waste time on the bigger picture, though. He needed to get to Bucky and- something. He'd come up with the second part of the plan later.

He dashed back out to where Bucky and Wanda had been to see Wanda on her knees, glaring up at Bucky, red fire glimmering between them. Ah, crap. 

Clint had already watched one Maximoff die, he wasn't about to watch another. He set an arrow to his bow, took a deep breath, and aimed for Bucky's shoulder where, hopefully, it wouldn't do any permanent damage.

He couldn't let it go. He had the shot, but he couldn't let the string go. Everything inside him rose up, choking him with emotion as he fought to do what he knew needed doing. Bucky pulled out a gun and pointed it at Wanda's head and Clint tried, he did, but all he could think was _This is Bucky. This is my soulmate. I can't do this._

For fuck's sake. He was an Avenger, a SHIELD agent, a soldier. He knew how to make the tough choices. He shut his eyes so he couldn't actually see Bucky and let the arrow fly.

Too late. Bucky had turned so that the arrow whizzed harmlessly past him. He was staring up at the sky, firing overhead at a moving target. Wanda scrambled to get out of the way, running back towards the base along with all the agents responding to Hill's command.

Falcon swooped down over Bucky and Clint realised that he'd been the one to distract him from Wanda. Which was great, except that Sam was clearly not aiming to actually hit him, whereas Bucky was firing up at him as he flew with every intention of killing him.

“Guys, anyone want to tag in?” said Sam over the comms, twisting his body into a spin to avoid Bucky's aim.

“I've got it,” said Steve and a moment later Bucky was hit by his shield, which distracted him enough for Sam to fly back up higher, towards where Vision was taking down what Clint really hoped was the last of the helicopters.

Bucky turned, caught sight of Steve, and then they threw themselves at each other, moving so fast that Clint couldn't keep track. Okay, that was good, Steve would get Bucky back. He had before. 

Clint turned to see Natasha covering the retreat into the base and ran to join her.

“Now this is like Budapest,” she said as he drew his bow back to send an explosive arrow into a tangle of Hydra agents.

“It really isn't,” said Clint. Budapest had been a cakewalk compared to this.

He tried really hard to keep his attention on what he was doing, but he couldn't help glancing over at Bucky and Steve's fight every so often. Steve had turned his comms off but Clint could see him talking to Bucky, no doubt trying to get through to him. It didn't look like it was working.

Another troop truck came down the road and started unloading and he groaned. “Seriously, how do they have so many guys?”

He sent another explosive arrow at it, hitting the engine, but the explosion only took out a handful of the agents streaming into the fight. One of the ones who survived threw a grenade in their direction and Clint grabbed Natasha's arm, diving to the side just in time to avoid the explosion.

“Guys, I think we've won the fight in the skies,” said Rhodey.

“Great,” said Natasha. “We're losing the fight down here.”

“Hydra agents have infiltrated the base,” said Hill over the comms. “Repeat, there are bad guys inside the base. We need reinforcements at the main hangar.”

Clint glanced over to see Rumlow directing Hydra agents in through the hangar door. That fucker, how was he still up and moving after a fight with Cap?

“Go,” said Natasha, firing at the troops that were converging on the door they were covering. “I've got this.”

Clint glanced around. Most of Hill's agents were inside now, firing out of the door or from various windows on this side of the building. There were a handful still outside with him and Natasha, but they were starting to retreat inside as well. Once they were all inside, Natasha would be able to fall back as well, into a position that would be easy enough for her to defend for a while.

Clint did have unfinished business with Rumlow. He threw his bow over his shoulder so he could move quicker and headed off, ducking behind whatever cover he could find and gathering up a handful of agents as he went. 

Hydra soldiers were advancing into the hangar through the main doors, pushing back the handful of agents that were protecting the doors into the main base. Clint caught a glimpse of Hill crouching behind an over-turned table by the doors, shouting orders at her agents.

He directed his handful of agents to come up behind Hydra, hopefully catching them between two forces.

“Don't worry about Rumlow, I'll deal with him,” he said, hoping like hell he was up to it. Rumlow had kicked his ass last time, after all.

“Good luck,” said one of them, and he gave him a weak smile.

“Right, go!” he said, and they ran in through the main doors, taking out as many Hydra agents as they could before they caught on to the fact that there was gunfire behind them as well as in front.

Rumlow turned, caught sight of Clint, and grinned. “Barton! I'm meant to be leaving the Avengers to be taken out by the Asset, but I'll happily ignore that for you. I mean, you're not really a proper Avenger, right?”

Clint didn't bother wasting time with banter. He shot an arrow that Rumlow ducked away from, then threw just himself at him. This was the bastard who had taken Bucky away from him. He was going to destroy him.

“Holy shit guys, what the hell did you do to the shiny base I built you?” came a new voice over the comms. 

Tony. Clint didn't have any attention to divert to working out what the hell he came from. Fighting Rumlow was taking everything he had. He knew now that Rumlow was faster than him, but that didn't mean Clint couldn't still take him. He had a trick or two up his sleeve, not to mention a huge amount of rage.

“Tony, what the fuck are you doing here?” asked Rhodey.

Rumlow kicked at Clint's feet, trying to sweep them out, but Clint was ready for it, turning his jump to avoid it into a somersault that ended with his feet buried in Rumlow's gut.

“Well, I did come to try and minimise how much I'd have to pay for the rebuild, but it looks like that ship has sailed,” said Tony. “Did you really have to put a helicopter through the roof?”

“That was Vision,” said Rhodey.

“My apologies,” said Vision.

Rumlow recovered too quickly, pulling out a knife and sending it spinning at Clint, making him duck away before he could follow up on his advantage. Wait a minute, had that been his knife? The one he'd left sticking out of his shoulder last time they'd met? The thieving bastard!

“It's cool,” said Tony. “I guess I'm just kinda miffed I missed out on the aerial part of the battle.”

“If you guys are good out here, I'm gonna help the guys in the hangar,” said Falcon and a minute later Clint was aware of something flying in through the open door and gliding down to land near Hill and her agents. He didn't glance over. He needed all his attention on Rumlow right now. 

He got enough of distance between them to send an arrow at him, an explosive one that would hopefully get him down for a bit, but Rumlow moved too fast and all Clint did was blow a hole in the wall. Okay, he was going to tell Tony that a Hydra agent had done that.

“Tones, you want to come with me and take back the gatehouse?” asked Rhodey. “I think Vision, Natasha and Wanda have things here and we really need to halt some of their reinforcements.”

“Hell yeah,” said Tony. “Unless you want help, Cap?”

There was a pause during which Clint couldn't help being distracted, waiting for Steve to report on how things were going with Bucky. Rumlow took advantage of it to punch him into a wall and Clint's bow went flying out of his hands. Shit, he kinda needed that.

“I'm fine,” said Steve, sounding as if he was talking through gritted teeth. “I'm not getting through to Bucky though.” There was a crash that echoed through the comm link at the same time as Clint heard it through the open hangar door. “New plan, knock him out or isolate him from Hydra and work on pulling him back later.”

There was a flash of red and blue from outside the hangar door. Apparently Steve and Bucky had moved a lot closer while they'd been fighting. Clint didn't have time to look for them though, because Rumlow had grabbed him around the neck, bashing him back against the wall.

“The best thing about taking out an Avenger,” said Rumlow, “is that you guys are so sentimental, it'll affect the rest of them as well. Think it'll give the Asset enough of an edge to take down your precious Captain?”

Clint kicked at his legs then punched him in the face, but Rumlow didn't shift his grip. “Thought you weren't meant to be taking any of us out,” he choked around his grip.

Rumlow shrugged as he tightened his grip. “I don't mind helping the Asset out with his mission, since my own is going so well. We're going to kill everyone here and burn this base to the ground, like you keep burning our bases. You'll be dead long before then, of course.”

Oxygen was becoming a serious concern for Clint as his heartbeat started to thump in his ears. Shit, was he really going to be killed by this bastard? That would be embarrassing.

Everything was going black around the edges of his vision when Cap's shield hit Rumlow, sending him flying. Clint collapsed down, pulling in breaths, and glanced over to see Steve in the doorway of the hangar.

He managed a thumbs up. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” said Steve, and then Bucky ran through the door at him, throwing a knife that Steve ducked and they were back into it. Somewhere along the way Bucky had lost his goggles and face mask, but there was nothing on his face that made Clint think he was anything other than the Winter Soldier right now.

Clint tore himself away from watching in order to go over to Rumlow. He was going to take this fucker down for good, and then he could help Steve beat up his soulmate. Rumlow was still on the floor, but he was starting to get up. Clint pulled out one of his throwing knives and sent it at him, scoring a hit on his bicep that kept him down for long enough for Clint to straddle him, picking his head up by his hair and knocking it against the floor before getting his heads around his throat.

“Funny how you always end up with knives sticking out of you,” he said. “This time you're not going to get to steal it, though.”

Rumlow glared at him. “You're going to lose,” he hissed at him. “You're hopelessly outnumbered. Cut off one head-”

Clint tightened his grip, cutting off his words. “Yeah, heard that one before. I'm thinking that if it's your head I cut off, it's not going to matter to you how many replace it.”

Rumlow flailed at his arms but Clint didn't let up his grip. He was going to make damn sure this fucker was dead this time. Rumlow's eyes went left and then widened. He sent a fist at Clint's face that he easily avoided, but ducking loosened his grip for a moment, just enough for Rumlow to grit out.

“Shoot him, already.”

Clint turned to see Bucky staring at them, the gun in his hand pointed straight at Clint. 

His heart drop through his stomach. Oh god, he was about to be killed by his soulmate. Wasn't that just a fucking typical end to his train-wreck of a life?

In the background Clint was aware of Steve shouting something from a distance, footsteps rushing towards them, but there was no time. Bucky flicked his hair out of his face, squeezed the trigger, and fired.

He missed. 

The bullet whizzed past Clint's ear, so close he could feel it, but it didn't touch him. The shock made him loosen his grip on Rumlow, who threw him off with a quick kick of his legs. Clint rolled away, landing next to his bow, which he snatched up.

“What the hell was that?!” Rumlow shouted at Bucky, who was standing stock still, staring at Clint as he pulled himself back up to his feet. “You have a mission! Focus!”

Clint couldn't take his eyes off Bucky, heart in his mouth. Was this it? Was he breaking through his conditioning? Bucky turned to look at Rumlow just as Steve made it to them, stopping a metre or two away.

“Bucky?” he said, sounding just as breathless as Clint felt. “C'mon, Bucky, we're your friends.”

Bucky sent him a glare. “You keep saying that. Doesn't make it true.”

“Stick to the mission. Kill all the Avengers,” Rumlow gritted out. Clint pulled an arrow out and set it to his bow, taking advantage of the pause to aim at Rumlow, but he didn't let it go. He didn't want to do anything that might tip Bucky the wrong way right now.

Bucky glanced from Steve back to Clint, then at Rumlow again. For the first time Clint thought he could detect an expression on his face, hesitation and confusion mingling to make hope sing in Clint's heart. He couldn't do it. He couldn't kill Clint, which meant part of him was still there. Right?

Bucky made a frustrated noise, then turned around as if searching for something. His eyes landed on Falcon, who was soaring over a knot of Hydra agents and firing down at them. The confusion cleared from Bucky's face and he lifted his gun and fired before Clint realised what was happening.

Sam dropped from the sky as Steve shouted his name. Clint let his arrow go, catching Rumlow in the thigh as he darted away, back towards his troops, who were converging on Sam's fallen shape.

“Go!” Clint called to Steve, who had hesitated, looking caught between Bucky and Sam. “I've got this.”

Steve sent him a nod and then ran off towards Sam, punching a Hydra agent in the face as he went.

“One down,” Rumlow shouted at Bucky. “Now, take Hawkeye down.”

Bucky turned to look at Clint with dark, terrifying eyes and turned his gun on him again. Clint wasn't sure if he could count on the same reprieve twice, so he fired an arrow calculated to uselessly clatter off Bucky's metal arm but which bought him a few precious moments to dive for the hole that he'd blown in the wall earlier.

It led through to a storeroom where the mechanics kept the spare parts for the wide variety of vehicles that were on the base. Long rows of high shelves covered the space, which meant plenty of cover. Clint ran down one of the aisles, then climbed up to the top of one of the shelves as quickly as he could. He ran along the top, ducking to avoid the ceiling, then leapt over to the next line of shelves along. He got as far into the room as he could before stopping and hiding himself behind a box.

He could see Bucky moving along one of the aisles, looking around at ground level with a frown that said he'd lost Clint entirely. Good. Now Clint just had to keep him distracted for long enough for the others to wipe out the hundreds of Hydra agents swarming over the base, and maybe work out a way to break through his brain-washing that Steve had missed. Easy, right?

He flicked his comms off so that there wouldn't be other voices coming through, distracting him from what he needed to do here. He couldn't think about whether or not Natasha was going to be able to hold against the forces attacking her, or if Hill was going to get overrun, or even if Sam was going to be okay. He had to push all that aside and just focus on Bucky.

“You sure you're going to be able to kill me now when you couldn't before, Bucky?” he called out, then moved, as quickly and quietly as he could, as Bucky's head flicked around in the direction of his voice.

“That's not my name,” said Bucky. “You and the other guy need to stop calling me that.”

“The other guy is your best friend, Steve Rogers,” said Clint, moving back towards the hole in the wall. First priority was containment. “You've known him since you were kids.”

“That's what he said. You're both wrong,” said Bucky. He shot up at Clint but missed. Clint kept moving until he was by the shelf nearest the hole in the wall. He pushed the shelf unit next to him then jumped back across an aisle, as it fell heavily to block the hole.

Bucky's footsteps sped up and he came around the corner, already shooting up at where Clint had been. Luckily, by then he was already several shelves away.

“Okay,” he called. “So, what is your name, then?” Keep him talking, and he might just be distracted enough to give Clint a chance.

There was an echoing silence as Clint climbed down to the next second highest shelf and tucked himself between two sacks. He glanced between them to see a faint frown on Bucky's face as he stalked along an aisle, looking for Clint.

“You don't have one right?” Clint called. “They took that away from you. You're James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don't need a name when I've got a mission,” he said, and opened fire on the shelves all around Clint's location.

Clint wriggled backwards and dropped down into the next aisle, knocking a box off as he went, then sprinted for the far end. Crap, this wasn't going well.

“You haven't asked who I am,” he said, ducking left, away from where Bucky's footsteps were thundering towards him.

“Clinton Francis Barton, also known as Hawkeye, archer, formerly of SHIELD, part of the Avengers Initiative since it was founded,” recited Bucky as he came around the corner already firing. “I've read your file.”

“The one that says how totally badass and awesome I am?” asked Clint, ducking down another aisle as bullets whistled past him and wondering how long he could keep the game of cat-and-mouse up. “The one that didn't tell you that you wouldn't be able to shoot me?”

“I'll be able to shoot you,” said Bucky. “I just missed earlier.”

Clint couldn't keep in a laugh, no matter how inappropriate it might be. “You're kidding, right? You're Bucky Barnes, the only guy who's a better shot than me. Well, with a gun. You don't miss when you've got a gun in your hand.” He ducked under a shelf into another aisle just in time as Bucky came around the corner. “You couldn't shoot me, though,” he said, “cuz I'm your soulmate.”

He climbed back up onto the shelves as Bucky scoffed. “I don't have a soulmate.”

“Then how do you explain the soulprint on your side?” Clint asked, ducking down and pulling out an arrow. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed to mix it up a bit.

“I don't-” started Bucky, but he hesitated.

“Right side, a couple of inches up from your waistband,” said Clint. “My fingerprint, because I'm a clutz who fell onto you rather than shaking your hand or whatever like a normal person.”

Bucky had stopped at the end of the aisle, his frown far heavier now. Clint took a deep breath and let the arrow fly, hitting the gun in his hand and knocking it out of his grip, away into the shadows. He followed up with another one immediately, pinning Bucky's sleeve to the shelf behind him and, wow, he hadn't thought he'd actually make that without putting the arrow through Bucky's arm as well. Sometimes his incredible amounts of awesome surprised even himself.

Bucky growled. “You're just trying to distract me.” He grabbed the arrow with his metal hand and pulled it out, throwing it away after the gun. Okay, Clint probably should have seen that coming.

Oh Christ, he was going to have to do something drastic, or they'd just keep circling each other.

“Nope,” he said, then took a deep breath, put all his trust in the soulmate link, and jumped down. He landed right in front of Bucky, where he would be easy to kill. Really, really easy to kill. Oh god, well, at least Bucky didn't have a gun in his hand any more. “It's true. I promise, Bucky. I'm your soulmate.”

Bucky pulled out a knife but didn't immediately attack, which Clint counted as a win. He slung his bow over his shoulder, then ripped the bracer that covered his print off, holding his arm up so that Bucky could see it.

“That's your fingerprint,” he said. “You helped me up off the couch.” God, he hoped this worked.

Bucky glanced at it for only a split-second. “I hadn't met you before today,” he said, and then, in a growl, “You're my mission.”

He came at Clint with the knife, pushing him back against the shelves with his metal arm and holding him there. Clint let him do it. It was too late now for anything else. Either he'd manage to convince Bucky, or Bucky would kill him. Oh god, please don't let Bucky kill him.

Bucky set the knife to Clint's throat. Clint swallowed, feeling every inch of Bucky's proximity to him and wishing it was under different circumstances. Clint wasn't sure what hurt more, the thin line of blood starting to well up, or the blank look in Bucky's eyes. Last time he and Bucky had been this close, his eyes had been alive with all the emotions that flooded through Clint when he touched his soulprint.

His print. That was it, that was how Clint could get him back.

He took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on Bucky's. “You should touch your print before you kill me,” he said. “I really think that would be the best plan, rather than maybe rushing in and doing something you can't undo.”

“I don't have a print,” said Bucky, and the knife bit deeper into Clint's throat. Desperation raced through Clint. He was running out of time. If Bucky killed Clint, how was he going to feel if ( _when_ ) Steve got him back? Clint couldn't let him do that to himself.

“Okay, well, that's easy to prove either way,” said Clint. “Just pull up your shirt. If I'm wrong, you can kill me knowing I'm a liar. I swear, I won't even fight you. If I'm right, though-”

“You're not right,” said Bucky, but he didn't press the knife in any further. Apparently, he still couldn't actually kill Clint, or at least Clint really fucking hoped he couldn't.

Clint racked his brain for something to say that would break the stalemate. Only one thing came to mind, three words he hadn't even let himself think before, because they were terrifyingly serious. There didn't seem any point in lying to himself any longer though, not when he could be about to die. He opened his mouth and let them slip out.

“I love you.”

Bucky stared at him as if he was a crazy person which, fair enough. “You're my mission,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “And if you kill me, I'll die still loving you. Bucky, please- I know you can feel something, or you'd have killed me ten times over by now. Please, just have a look at your print. I promise I'll just stand here, won't move an inch.”

Bucky looked torn, then he scowled at Clint. “This is pointless,” he said, but stepped back. Clint let out a long breath of relief as the knife left his throat. Bucky pointed the knife at him. “Don't move.”

Clint held up his hands. “Nope, no moving, just gonna stand right here.” And try to pretend he wasn't shaking with adrenalin.

Bucky glared at him, but tucked the knife away, then pulled up the right side of his body armour. It wasn't exactly easy, but he only needed to pull it up a few inches to reveal his print, standing out blackly against his skin. He stared at it for a long moment, then back at Clint.

“Told ya,” said Clint, which didn't dial down Bucky's glare at all. “Go on, read me.”

It was probably a stupidly long shot for him to hope that reading Clint's emotions would break the restraints Hydra had put around Bucky's mind, but Clint couldn't keep from hoping. Whatever they'd done had locked down Bucky's emotions so completely that Clint couldn't read anything from him, after all. Maybe giving him a glimpse into Clint's emotions would remind him of his own. Or something, Clint didn't pretend to be clever enough to really understand any of this shit.

For a moment Bucky didn't move, and Clint was afraid that Bucky was just going to drop his shirt and go back to trying to kill him, but then he carefully, slowly, touched his finger to his print.

Clint wondered if he should have been trying to feel any emotion in particular for Bucky to read, but he wasn't sure he had that much control over himself. As it was, Bucky was probably just getting a hefty wallop of fear, anxiety and hope. God, so much desperate hope.

Bucky's eyes widened. “It's-” he whispered, then shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I know you,” he said, in a low voice.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint, taking a slow step forward with both his hands raised. “And I know you. You're not whatever they've made you believe you are, you're my soulmate. You're Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head, but it looked more like confusion than denial. “I don't-” he said, then broke off. He stood stock-still for a long minute, his eyes distant as he concentrated on whatever he was reading from Clint. Probably more hope than fear now, along with a hefty dose of affection. God, Clint loved him so much, this guy who had managed to shake off the worst Hydra's scientists could do to him twice now.

When Bucky finally focused back on Clint, he dropped his hand away and pulled his shirt back down, his shoulders straightening as if he was on a parade ground. “Okay,” he said. “So, what? I'm on your side?”

“You're an Avenger,” said Clint. “You're one of the team.”

“My mission is to take down the team,” corrected Bucky, then frowned. “That's- No. I can't-” He broke off and let out a frustrated noise, hands clenching into fists. “You can't be my mission,” he said, in a voice so low as to be a growl. “I can't hurt you.”

Oh, thank god for that. Best thing Clint had heard for- well, for years, frankly. 

“How about a new mission?” he suggested, carefully. “Take down the arrogant fuckers who thought it was okay to play with your brain?”

Bucky stood frozen still for a moment. “They made me forget you,” he said, very quietly, then managed a nod. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Clint beamed at him. “Awesome. Man, it's so good to have you back, seriously. Can I hug you, or-?” Bucky looked terrified at the very suggestion, so Clint backtracked. “Yeah, okay, not right now. I get it.”

Bucky shook his head. “Not a hug, but, maybe...” He raised his hand, formed it into a fist, and held it out to Clint. “I think I remember this.”

Clint stared at it, his mouth going dry. “Yeah,” he said, hoarsely, and reached out to tap his fist against Bucky's.

They stared at each other and Clint had to restrain himself from not just tackling the guy and hugging the shit out of him, then maybe slipping him a bit of tongue. Probably not a good idea to give him any surprises right now.

He picked his bracer up and put it back on. Bucky moved away and Clint could hear him picking up the gun Clint had shot out of his hand. He couldn't resist pressing his finger to his print before he covered it up.

There was still a hard shell around Bucky's emotions, but Clint could feel things starting to seep through, as if there were cracks in it. The biggest emotion was confusion, which seemed fair, but there was also determination and a vague hint of the anger Clint had grown so used to. He hadn't thought he'd ever be so pleased to feel it.

“Here,” said Bucky, handing back the arrows Clint had fired earlier. Aw man, he'd thought to gather them up for Clint, that was the sweetest thing anyone had done for Clint in ages.

Okay, it was possible that he was pretty emotional at the moment. He should probably nail that down before it scared the crap out of Bucky. He finished putting his bracer on and then took them with a simple, “Thanks,” rather than the effusive declaration of love that was in his mind.

They had to pull all the boxes and the shelf unit Clint had pushed over away from the hole in the wall. When they stepped through, they found the hangar largely empty. From the sounds of things, the fight had moved back outside, which pointed to Hydra being on the run.

Clint turned his comms back on. “Hey guys, how's it going? We winning yet?”

“Just about,” said Steve. “How's Bucky?”

Clint glanced at Bucky, who was hovering next to him with his gun clenched in his hand, frown creasing his face as he listened. “He's back with us.”

“Oh, thank god,” said Steve, sounding just as relieved as Clint was. “That's great.”

“How's Sam?” asked Clint.

“With the medics,” said Steve. “They said he should be fine.”

A wave of relief passed through Clint. He may have been forcing himself to focus on Bucky, but that didn't mean that he hadn't been terrified that Sam was going to be dead. He hated to think what that would have done to Steve, not to mention how Bucky would have felt once he remembered enough to know he'd become friends with the guy.

“Sam's okay,” Clint passed on to Bucky, who just stared at him as if he had no idea what he was talking about. Right, okay, that would come in time.

There was a familiar-sounding bellow from outside and Clint frowned. “Is that the Hulk? Where did he come from?”

“Alaska,” said Natasha, which didn't really answer Clint's question.

Before he could ask for more information, there was the click of a gun being cocked to his left, and Clint turned to see Rumlow, one hand pressed to a wound in his chest, blood dripping down his leg from the snapped-off end of the arrow still in his leg.

Clint groaned. “Oh, come on, can't you just die already?” And, shit, what the hell was Bucky going to do if he remembered just enough to know he should be on Clint's side, and then saw him shot in front of him? Fear clutched at Clint's heart and he wondered, distantly, if he was always going to be more afraid for Bucky than he was for himself, even when he had a gun pointed at his head.

“Not before you,” said Rumlow. His eyes flickered over Clint's shoulder to Bucky. “You're failing your mission. Eliminate all the Avengers.”

Bucky raised his gun. “I know my mission,” he said, and shot Rumlow right in the centre of his forehead. Rumlow collapsed, finally dead, and Clint let out a long sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank god for that,” he said, turning to give Bucky a grin. “That was awesome.”

Bucky managed a faint shadow of a smile. “I don't miss with a gun in my hand.”

****

There were only a few clumps of Hydra agents left when they got outside, and most of them seemed pretty desperate to surrender once they caught sight of the Hulk.

Steve came over as soon as he saw them emerge and Bucky tensed. “Bucky,” said Steve. “It's good to have you back.”

Bucky shrugged. “I don't know that I am back,” he said. “I guess I'm working on it.”

Steve nodded. “You did it before, you can do it again.”

“Do you remember Steve at all?” asked Clint.

Bucky squinted at Steve, then gave a shrug. “Sort of. I guess I recognise you.”

“It'll come back,” said Steve, with great confidence. “We've got too much history for it not to come back. And even if it doesn't, I'll still be here. With you 'til the end of the line, Bucky.”

Steve looked like he was getting a bit emotional so Clint moved away slightly to give him space to try and bond with his BFF. He glanced around at the rest of the field. Natasha was over by the Hulk near the treeline, talking to him with her arms spread in a calming manner. As he watched, the Hulk stumbled and turned away, shrinking down as he headed off into the woods.

Clint gestured at the nearest agent. "Hey, can you go and grab a coat or a blanket or something and give it to Black Widow?"

The agent nodded and rushed off.

Vision and Wanda were bringing in a group of surrendered Hydra agents from the other side of the grounds. War Machine and Iron Man were soaring overhead, apparently hunting down stragglers. There couldn't be any left around, because as Clint watched, Tony soared down and came to land in front of him.

"Hey hey, Legolas. How's it going?" he said, putting his face plate up.

"Oh, just great," said Clint. "Nothing like a firefight first thing in the morning to really wake you up."

"Oh yeah, it's just great," said Tony. He nodded at Bucky. "How's your boy doing?"

Clint wondered if he was ever going to be able to put a stop to this 'your boy' thing. Probably not, knowing Tony. Complaining would only make it worse. "He's remembered enough to not try and kill us, but..."

"But there's nothing wrong with his hearing," said Bucky, sending a glare over at Tony.

"Fair enough," said Tony. "How're you doing, then? Do you remember me?"

Bucky gave him a very dismissive look up and down. "No."

"And they say you don't get a second chance to make a first impression," said Tony. He held his hand out. "Hi, I'm Tony Stark. You think I'm awesome."

"Tony," said Steve, with a sigh. "Don't lie to the guy with memory problems."

"I'm not," protested Tony. "I mean, okay, he kept it pretty well hidden, but I could tell the truth."

Bucky was still just staring at Tony's hand and Clint could see his fingers twitch.

"Oh right, sorry," said Tony, dropping his hand. "Should be this way round, right?" He held out his left hand instead. "Metal arm buddies, yeah?"

Bucky hesitated, then put out his metal hand to shake Tony's gauntlet. He glanced sideways at Clint as if looking for reassurance. Clint gave him what he hoped was a supportive smile and Bucky looked back at Tony. "Good to meet you."

Clint pushed his finger under his bracer to read Bucky. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed, which Clint could empathise with. Tony was a lot, even when you weren't already stressed out by breaking your brainwashing.

"Hey, you want to go and see your rooms?" he asked. "See if that jogs anything in your mind?"

Bucky nodded, so Clint gave Steve a nod. "Have fun with the clean up."

Steve looked around at the debris from explosions, crashed planes, tipped over trucks and scattered corpses. "Yeah," he said, with a sigh. "You know, I might just go and see how Sam's doing first."

"Slacker," said Tony.

"Sam Wilson," said Bucky, slowly. "The Falcon. I shot him."

"He's going to be fine," said Steve. "And he's pretty understanding about these things. He knows that wasn't on you."

Bucky's frown deepened and he shook his head, but he didn't say anything else. Clint reached out for his elbow but let his hand drop before he made contact. Probably best not to touch him just yet, no matter how much Clint wanted to feel the solidity of him back with him. God, he was only just realising how scared he'd been.

"C'mon, let's go in."

Bucky nodded and followed him.

Steve came with them as far as the corridor that lead to medical, where he paused before heading off. "It's good to have you back, Bucky.”

“Thanks,” said Bucky, tersely.

"I know it seems like a lot right now,” said Steve, “but you did this before, you got almost all your memories back. You can do it again."

Bucky just nodded and then, when Steve had left, let out a long breath.

"Come on, let's go and hide from everyone," said Clint. "Ooh, and get coffee on the way. I only managed one cup this morning."

He got them both coffee, then took Bucky back to his rooms. Bucky looked around with great interest, coffee in one hand and gun still clutched in the other like a security blanket.

"I live here?" he asked. His eyes caught on the purple beanbag chair. "Are you sure?"

"Yep," said Clint, settling on the couch. "Used to be my place, which is why some of the furniture is so awesome."

"Awesome," repeated Bucky with deep scepticism. "Right." He looked around the rest of the room, then stepped toward the hoodie and stared at it. "This was mine?"

"It's all yours," said Clint. "You want to take a look around? I'm just going to chill here. I'm exhausted."

Bucky looked at him for a long time, frowning to himself. "You- you don't do this any more," he said, slowly. "You retired. Went- went somewhere else." His frown deepened. "Why weren't we together?"

Clint wasn't sure how to answer that. "We agreed it was better, while you were getting your head together. I was planning to retire anyway."

Bucky shook his head. "Makes no damn sense. You're the only keeping me together right now, why would it have made sense to be apart?"

"Cuz that's now. Before, you came here cuz of Steve," said Clint, then shrugged. "But yeah, okay, maybe not the best decision. I can be a moron sometimes."

Bucky blinked. "Moron," he repeated. "Yeah, that rings a bell."

"Oh sure, you remember _that_ ," grumbled Clint.

Bucky tucked his gun away so that he could run his fingers over the hoodie, and that was progress, right? No longer clinging to his weapon had to be good. 

"So, it's all mine?"

"Pretty much," said Clint.

Bucky spent a few minutes poking around, examining the hoodie and then frowning at the games system linked up to the TV and the _Call of Duty_ case resting on top of it.

Clint pulled off his bracers and body armour so that he could slouch properly and then just sat back and watched him, so fucking relieved that he was back, and safe. Every so often, he ran his finger over his print, reminding himself that they'd cracked through the shell Hydra had put around Bucky's emotions. It was still there, but it shattered further with every twinge of recognition that pinged through Bucky's mind.

Once Bucky had exhausted the possibilities of the lounge, he headed through into the bedroom, leaving the door open between them so that Clint could watch.

"I'm guessing this is your arrow," he called through.

"Yeah," said Clint. "I left it behind when I moved out."

"This picture," said Bucky, then faded into silence.

"Steve drew it," said Clint, shifting so he could see Bucky staring at it. "It's where you grew up. Remember it?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't-" He took a deep breath. "Maybe," he muttered. "Fuck, this sucks. It's like wandering around a stranger's room."

"Give it time," said Clint, which earned him a black look. Yeah, fair enough. As relieved as Clint was that Bucky was no longer trying to kill him, the dawning realisation that it was likely to take months to get him all the way back to the man Clint had fallen in love with was beginning to hit.

"What's this?" asked Bucky, and Clint glanced over to see him picking up the keyring from the bedside table. "I remember this."

"Do you?" asked Clint. "What do you remember?"

Bucky stared at it for a long moment. "I remember....I remember being pissed off with you, cuz you were being casual about nearly getting hurt. I wanted to yell at you to take more care, but it didn't feel like my place." He screwed his face up with concentration. "It was after a fight."

"Yeah," said Clint, sitting forward. "That's it exactly. It was before we activated, I nearly got shot. You called me a moron."

"You are a moron," muttered Bucky.

Seriously, why did that have to be one of the first things to come back? "Yeah," he agreed.

Bucky tightened his hand around the keyring. "I was holding this when they had me," he said. "In the chair."

"I found it underneath," said Clint.

Bucky stared at him. "You were there?"

"We blew the base up," said Clint. "Well, Tony did. Tony loves blowing shit up."

"The chair's gone," muttered Bucky, looking back down at the keyring.

"Yeah," said Clint, quietly. "We were just a bit too late."

Bucky let out a long breath, then tucked the keyring away in a pocket and turned to the wardrobe. He threw it open, stared for a moment, and then said, blankly, "I have a lot of hoodies."

"Let me guess," said Clint. "They're all black."

Bucky ducked a nod, then frowned, reaching in and pulling something out. "Not quite." He turned to show Clint what he'd pulled out. It was one of the official Avengers merchandise hoodies, the bright purple one with the bow and arrow on the chest. Clint took one look and cracked up.

"Oh man, that's awesome. I bet you anything Tony bought that for you, that's just the kind of shit he thinks is funny."

"You think it's funny too," Bucky pointed out.

“Yeah,” admitted Clint, without shame. “But, I mean, come on, it's _purple_. That makes it your best hoodie by miles.”

Bucky hesitated, then set the hoodie down, stripped off his body armour and most of the weapons he had strapped on, then pulled the hoodie on. He looked down at himself, then up at Clint, who gave him two thumbs up.

"You've never looked better," he said.

Bucky shook his head but didn't take the hoodie off as he turned to go through the rest of the wardrobe and then moved on to the bedside table. Clint finished his coffee before, unable to resist, he pulled out his phone and took a surreptitious photo of Bucky, dressed in Clint's colours and frowning at a book he'd found.

He turned around and Clint had to quickly tuck his phone away and pretend he was doing nothing. "You're deaf," said Bucky.

Clint blinked. "Uh, yeah," he said. He tapped his hearing aids. "What gave it away?"

Bucky held up the book. _A Beginner's Guide To ASL_.

Clint stared at it. "You were learning sign language?"

Bucky shrugged. "Apparently. You didn't know?"

Clint shook his head. "You never said."

Bucky flicked through the book, then set it back in the drawer. "I hope I hadn't got too far, cuz I'm gonna have to start all over."

He made a face. "Gonna have to start all over with everything," he muttered.

"It'll come back," said Clint. "It'll all come back. Bucky, we're gonna help you as much as we can."

Bucky nodded, but didn't look convinced. He strode off into the bathroom, where Clint couldn't see him.

Clint sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. Christ, how the hell was he meant to help Bucky with this stuff? He wasn't exactly the kind of guy who knew how to help people through trauma or whatever. That was Sam, if it was anyone.

He rubbed his finger over his print but wasn't comforted much. Bucky's emotions were a maelstrom of anger, confusion and a deep resentment that Clint could empathise with. Why the hell was everything in his life such a mess? Soulmates were meant to be easy, weren't they? He'd always thought that was kinda the point of them.

Bucky emerged from the bathroom with a frown, his hand pushed underneath his hoodie to where his print was. “You're sad,” he said in an accusing voice.

“Yeah,” agreed Clint. “Something bad happened to my soulmate.”

Bucky didn't look as if he knew what to do with that. He came into the room and stood over Clint, close enough that Clint needed to spread his legs allow him space between them. His finger was still pressed to his side. Not for the first time, Clint considered the fact that touching your soulmate for the first time on their side made things really kinda awkward for them when it came to reading you. 

He tipped his head back so that he could see Bucky's face and found a smile for him.

“Just cuz I'm sad doesn't mean I'm not also fucking relieved,” he said. He wanted to reach and put his hands on Bucky's legs, hold him in place before he got pulled away by life again, but he wasn't sure that would be welcome. Bucky seemed pretty keen on his personal space right now.

“Yes, I can feel that as well,” said Bucky. He shook his head and let his hand drop. “And your affection for me. It makes no sense. I shot your friend today. I nearly shot you.”

“You didn't, though,” said Clint. “I'm really focusing on how you didn't. And how you trusted me enough to give me a chance to get through to you. All good things.”

Bucky shook his head. “It's weird. It feels like I've just met you, but also that I know exactly who you are.”

“Yeah, the whole soulmate thing is pretty weird,” said Clint. “Even without, you know, having your brain fucked over. When you were first here, I kept finding myself chatting to you like we were old friends, trusting you way more than I should. I didn't get it then, not until after we activated.”

Bucky nodded. “I do trust you,” he said, quietly. “I shouldn't. You were my mission.”

“I thought you were finding a new mission?” said Clint.

Bucky considered that. “Maybe I'll just change the mission parameters.”

Why the hell did that sound like innuendo? Or was Clint just reacting to having his soulmate standing between his legs and really needed to pull it back?

His phone rang, distracting him from the moment. He pulled it out to see that Natasha was calling him.

“Hey, Nat,” he answered. “How's it shaking?”

Bucky didn't move away. He kept staring down at Clint as if trying to examine the inside of his skull. After a moment, his hand slipped back under shirt so that he actually could.

“There's a meeting,” said Natasha, not bothering with niceties. “You need to be there. We're deciding what to do now that this place is pretty trashed.”

“And Bucky?” asked Clint.

She hesitated. “Yeah, we need to decide what to do with him as well.”

“You mean, _he_ needs to decide,” said Clint. “What I actually meant was, is he going to be welcome there? Cuz if not, I'm just gonna chill here with him.”

She sighed. “Fine, bring him. And, Clint? There's going to be food, you won't want to be late. Conference room two.”

She hung up, leaving Clint to look up at Bucky and give him a weak smile. “So, lunch involves having to deal with most of the other Avengers. You up for it?”

Bucky considered. “They all know me.”

“Yeah,” said Clint. “And like you, as well. And they're pretty good at giving people distance when it's needed.”

“You want to go,” said Bucky, and it wasn't a question. 

Clint's eyes flashed to his hand on his print. “It kinda feels like that's cheating, you know.”

Bucky pulled his hand away with a scowl. “We'll go,” he said. “But you'll do something for me first.”

“Will I?” asked Clint. “You gonna ask nicely?”

Bucky ignored that, which Clint could have guessed would happen. He was still a bit too much super-soldier assassin to ask for things nicely. “I want you to touch my print,” he said. “I want to feel what you feel for me.”

Clint sat up. “I can do that,” he said. “If you're sure. The other couple of times we did it, you found it a lot to cope with.”

“I'm sure,” said Bucky. “I don't remember how I used to feel about you, you know. I'm not really sure how those sorts of emotions should feel.”

“Then I'll remind you,” said Clint, reaching out for his waist. “Let me show you.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “Yeah, please.”

Clint slid his hand under Bucky's shirt, possibly skimming over the skin more than he really needed to, but he'd missed him so damned much that he just had to feel the solidity of his presence for a moment. He linked his finger with Bucky's print, and Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes went wide and his legs wobbled. He put his metal hand out to steady himself on Clint's shoulder, which would have been fine except Clint was really conscious of how easy it would be for him to lose control and crush Clint's collarbone.

Eh, screw it, it would be worth it, just for the look of wonder on Bucky's face, just as beautiful as the first time they'd done this.

“Yeah,” said Bucky, under his breath. “Yeah, that's- I remember that.” He stared down at Clint. “We did this here before. Sitting on the couch.”

“Yeah,” agreed Clint.

“And at your range,” said Bucky. “Oh, I remember that. You let me take over your range.”

“Seemed stupid to try to keep anything back from you,” said Clint. His chest felt as if it was shrinking, his heart beating hard enough to burst. God, he loved this guy so damned much. “We met there. Do you remember that? You watched me shooting for half an hour before I noticed you.”

Bucky shook his head but it didn't look like a denial so much as an attempt to clear his head. He screwed his eyes shut and drew in another sharp breath, looking as if he was going to hyperventilate. Clint took his finger away from Bucky's print but kept his hand under his shirt, curled around his waist.

“Hey, you okay?”

Bucky nodded, and then opened his eyes. “Got a lot of memories at once,” he said. “I kinda wish I'd had that the first time around. It felt like it was just cutting through all the fog and lighting things up.”

Clint grinned. “That's awesome.” He ran his thumb over Bucky's skin. Apparently he'd been wrong and touching Bucky was actually not only okay with him, but a help. Well, Clint could totally provide that kind of help, that was easy.

Bucky stared at him for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead before pulling away. “We've got a meeting,” he reminded Clint.

Clint sighed and stood up. “There better be coffee at this thing. And food, so much food. Something massively greasy.”

Bucky looked down at the purple hoodie he was still wearing and then turned back to the bedroom. “Wait a minute.”

“You want this one instead?” asked Clint, grabbing the hoodie off the back of the sofa. It was a plain black, far less likely to get them both teased to within an inch of their lives by Tony.

Bucky looked at it, hesitated, then shook his head. “Need my gear.”

He went back into the bedroom and pulled on his body armour and all the weapons he had abandoned. Clint didn't bother protesting. He knew what it was to need the security of being ready for combat when entering a stressful situation.

“Fine, I'm gonna wear it then,” he said, pulling the hoodie on.

“Don't spill coffee on it,” said Bucky.

“What do you care?” asked Clint. “You're got plenty of others. Besides, I'm not actually a child, you know.”

****

He spilt coffee on it. It wasn't his fault, not with everyone around the table fighting over the plates of burgers and mugs of coffee that had been magicked up from somewhere, elbows getting in each other's ways.

Bucky didn't sit down with them, he just hovered awkwardly behind Clint's chair. Clint made sure to hand him back a burger, and then had to raise an eyebrow at him when he didn't take it. “Come on, don't stand on ceremony,” he said. “You wouldn't believe how quickly food disappears around this lot.”

“As if you're not the worst for that,” said Natasha, coming in to the room with Bruce just behind her.

“Bruce!” Clint greeted him excitedly. “Bruce-Bruciekins!”

“Please don't call me that,” said Bruce, tiredly. He looked exhausted and was dressed in clothes that had clearly been borrowed from someone larger than him, but he seemed fairly happy. Clint noticed that Natasha's hand was resting on his wrist.

“You love it,” said Clint, dismissively. “How are you? It's been way too long. Nice timing on turning up, by the way, nothing more beautiful than seeing your massive green friend when there's that many Hydra agents on the ground.”

“I told you that there was no such thing as an ex-Avenger,” said Tony. “All us retired guys end up coming back when we're needed.”

“And we definitely needed you today,” Clint added to Bruce. “Thank you.”

Bruce shrugged awkwardly. “Hard to keep the big guy back when I feel Natasha in that much danger.”

“I wasn't in danger,” said Natasha. “I had it under control.”

“I didn't,” said Clint, holding up a hand to Bruce. “Seriously, thanks, man.”

Bruce stared at it, sighed, and then high-fived him with all the reluctant sense of inevitability that sharing a lab with Tony had taught him.

“You seem to have managed okay with your part,” Natasha said to Clint, then nodded at Bucky. “It's good to have you back.”

Bucky just looked back at her and shifted closer to Clint, apparently not up to finding words right now. Without even thinking about it, Clint reached back to him and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

Bruce's eyes tracked the movement. “Congratulations, by the way. I'm sorry I haven't been able to say that sooner.”

“No problem,” said Clint. “I know you've been-” He waved his hand in a vague gesture that he hoped conveyed whatever it was that Bruce actually got up to when he was off travelling the world.

Steve and Hill were the last to arrive. Steve glanced at Bucky and gave him a nod that Clint had to twist his head to see Bucky return. He really hoped that Bucky's memories of Steve came back at the same rate as his ones of Clint. It felt like cheating to get a jump ahead by using their prints when Steve and Bucky had shared so much more.

“Okay,” said Steve, jumping straight into fearless leader mode without even grabbing a burger. Freak. “We've decided that we're going to clear this place out until it's rebuilt. Tony's said we can move the Avengers back to the Tower for a bit.”

“As long as no one puts a helicopter through the roof,” said Tony, giving Vision a glare.

“I'm afraid I'm unable to make any promises,” said Vision.

“You must have expected him to be kinda destructive,” said Clint. “I mean, _you_ wrote most of his code.”

“Bruce helped!” protested Tony.

“Oh yeah,” said Bruce. “And I'm never known to be destructive. Not in Harlem, or Johannesburg, or-”

“Okay, fine, point taken,” said Tony. “At any rate, you guys are all welcome, just don't expect me not to whine if I have to fix stuff.”

“We would never expect you not to whine,” said Natasha. She glanced at Bruce, and then cleared her throat. “I won't be coming with the team to the Tower. I'm going to go with Bruce for a bit.”

“Go where with Bruce?” asked Hill, sharply.

Natasha just smiled at her. “Wherever we end up,” she said. “I'll still be available for any missions that come up, and I'll be back when this facility is rebuilt.”

Steve nodded. “Fair enough. Well, Sam and I are definitely going. Tony's got all the medical equipment he needs right now. Wanda?”

Clint watched as Wanda's antipathy towards Tony clearly warred with her desire to be with the team, and then she nodded. “I'll come.”

“Okay,” said Steve, glancing around at Rhodey and Vision, who both nodded. He looked at Clint, and then over his head at Bucky. “Guys?”

“We'll get back to you,” said Clint, feeling Bucky shift behind him.

Hill frowned. “Given recent events, it makes sense to have the Winter Soldier somewhere where we can make sure that there are no lingering-”

“Bucky,” interrupted Clint. “His name is Bucky.”

“And I can speak for myself,” added Bucky. “Not to mention make my own decision.”

“Which is?” asked Steve.

“You heard Clint,” said Bucky. “We'll get back to you.”

Hill glared at them both, but Clint just gave her his smuggest smile. He didn't work for her any more, he could get away with this shit now.

“Fine,” she snapped. “The other news is that, given the catastrophic lack of intelligence that led to today's disaster, Colonel Fury has finally secured the backing and funding that we were waiting for to start up a proper replacement for SHIELD.”

Clint looked at Natasha. “I told you he wouldn't start a deli.”

“He might be planning an organisation that's part spies, part deli,” said Natasha. “Get pastrami on rye and state secrets at the same time.”

“That would be convenient,” agreed Clint.

Hill cleared her throat meaningfully. “If I could finish. We're going to have a whole new headquarters, although a handful of agents and support staff will remain attached the the Avengers Initiative.”

This sounded like the kind of thing that Clint could safely ignore, so he reached out for another burger, glancing back at Bucky to make sure he was okay. Bucky's face didn't give an emotion away, but he raised an eyebrow at Clint when he caught him looking. He looked tense, but not about to snap, so Clint settled in to eat his burger and ignore whatever Hill was saying.

****

After the meeting, Clint took Bucky up to the roof. There were bullet holes scattered across it and the helicopter Tony was so upset about buried in the far corner, but the place he usually went to sit and think was still intact. He sat down and looked out over the view, taking in the smoking ruins of various vehicles and the agents moving about, gathering up the dead. Police had arrived at some point and were spreading out around the site, looking as if they had no idea what to do but felt they should be doing something.

Bucky hovered beside him, shifting uncomfortably. Clint glanced up at him. "You want to sit?"

Bucky stared around, then turned to look over his shoulder. "There's no cover."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "You think Hydra have anything left to throw at us? Cuz, from here, it kinda looks like we blew everything they owned up."

Bucky stared down at one of the trucks, which was on its side with the cab blown open. He hunched his shoulders but sat down, so close to Clint that their shoulders knocked together. "What are we doing up here?"

"I think best at a height," said Clint. "Do you know what you want to do?"

Bucky just stared at him. It looked a little like his brain had stalled. Right, Clint should have remembered that. One of the things that Hydra had taken from Bucky was his ability to make his own decisions. It had taken him a while to get that back before.

"I don't know what the options are," Bucky said, hunching over.

"Okay," said Clint. "Well, the way I see it, there are two. Well, three, but the other one is just to pull a Bruce and Natasha and go off for a mad roadtrip to nowhere and anywhere, which seems a bit drastic, but if you want to, we can."

"What do you want to do?" asked Bucky.

"I just want to be wherever you are," said Clint. "I'm done with not being around you, that didn't work out so well. I mean, if you tell me to screw off and leave you alone-"

"No," said Bucky. "No, I don't- Together is better."

"Okay," said Clint. "Then, option one is to go with everyone else to Tony's tower. Be with Steve and the rest of the team, have all the resources and shit that are there. There's a fucking incredible range, it's a work of art."

Bucky nodded. "And the other option?"

Clint shrugged. "Well, there's always my farm. It's pretty isolated, I don't know if that's a plus or not."

"That's where you retired to," said Bucky. He frowned. "I don't- have I been there?"

"No," said Clint.

Bucky nodded, then stared down at where Steve had emerged in order to have what looked like a heated argument with a police officer. "I guess you're not going to let me just leave it up to you."

"Nope," said Clint. "I'm not the one who's, you know, having issues. You need to decide what you think will be best for you. I mean, there's no pressure, it's not like we can't change our minds later. Or even spend a few days in one place, then go to the other for a bit. It's pretty much just where we go for now."

Bucky nodded again. There was a crash from below as a piece of debris dislodged from where it had been hanging, and he jolted, putting his hand on his gun, then letting out a long breath. He reached out for Clint instead, grabbing his hand just tightly enough to hurt. Clint gripped back just as hard.

"Might be best to go somewhere quiet," said Bucky.

"Okay, cool," said Clint. "The farm it is. I'll talk Tasha into flying us out there before she and Bruce disappear."

Bucky nodded. They sat there for a few more minutes while Clint tried not to draw attention to how much he was enjoying holding Bucky's hand. After all, it wasn't as if they'd had all that much physical contact, despite having activated over a month ago now. They'd only kissed, what, twice? He wondered how long it would be before they kissed again, and then slumped sideways, against Bucky.

"Just push me off if you want," he said, resting his head on Bucky's shoulder and thinking how much more comfortable it would be if he was wearing a hoodie rather than body armour. He really kinda loved Bucky's hoodies, not that he'd ever tell him. The last thing Bucky needed was encouragement on that front.

"It's fine," said Bucky. A moment later, he extricated his hand from Clint's and moved so that his arm was around his shoulders, holding him close.

Clint let out a sigh and let his eyes fall shut. "You really worried me," he confessed.

Bucky didn't say anything, he just held Clint against him as the clean up operation slowly continued below them.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time they headed down from the roof, Steve had gone back inside, presumably back to the medical department to see Sam. Clint got the feeling that he'd really like to just stay in there with him for the next day or so, but being team leader left him with a whole bunch of responsibilities that didn't allow for him to just glue himself to his soulmate's side.

Bucky hesitated at the door of Sam's room and Clint glanced at him.

"You can wait out here," he said. "Or go and start packing? I just need to let Steve know our plans."

Bucky shook his head. "I'll come."

Sam's shoulder was all swaddled up in bandages and he gave Clint the happy smile of a man on the really good painkillers, but Clint had seen enough guys recovering from being shot to know he was doing pretty well.

"Clint!" he slurred. "Awesome. How're you?" His eyes flicked behind him to Bucky, who was hovering in the background. "Oh, hey, and Bucky!" He squinted. "It is Bucky, right? Not, like the bad version?"

"It's fine," said Steve. "It's Bucky. You're safe."

"Course I'm safe," said Sam. "You're here." He reached out to pat at Steve, beaming at him, then his eyes slid shut.

Steve sent Clint a look that told him he wasn't allowed to find Sam hilarious. Clint ignored it in favour of sniggering.

Steve glanced over at Bucky instead. "How are you feeling?"

Bucky shrugged. "How am I meant to be feeling?" Steve gave him a look that said he found that about as helpful as Clint did. Bucky just stared implacably back. It was pretty clear he didn't have anything else to offer right now which was probably fair. Clint sneaked his finger onto his print to read him and found that he was keeping a tighter lid on his internal panic than Clint would have guessed, but that didn't mean he wasn't pretty close to the edge.

"We've decided we're going to the farm," said Clint, breaking the moment before Steve started asking more questions that might push Bucky too far. "At least for a bit."

Steve deflated, but nodded. "Okay," he said. He glanced at Sam, looking torn, and Clint felt bad that he was taking his best friend away.

"You're more than welcome to come out and visit any time," he said. "Bring Sam, once he's up to it. Country air is meant to be good for recuperation, isn't it?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, okay. That sounds like a plan."

"I mean, I just bought a barbecue," added Clint. And he was going to get to use it, god damn it, even if Hydra attacked every time he planned something.

"I fucking love barbecue," said Sam, without opening his eyes.

"Then you'll have to work at getting better so you can have some," said Clint.

Steve glanced down at Sam, then over at Bucky. "Can I have a word?"

Bucky stiffened, but jerked a nod at him, and they went outside together. Clint noticed that Bucky stayed where he could see Clint through the window in the door and wondered when you were meant to start worrying about co-dependency. Probably not for a few days, right?

Sam's eyes flickered open again. "This really hurts," he told Clint. "But drugs are so good."

"Yeah," agreed Clint. He'd been shot, he knew exactly what Sam meant. "You wait until they decide you're getting better and start cutting the drugs down. That bit really sucks."

Sam made a face. "And physio," he said, sadly. "I need my shoulder, you know."

"Can't fly without shoulders," agreed Clint.

Sam stared at him, frowning. Almost a minute passed. "Do birds have shoulders?" he asked, eventually.

Clint stared at him. "Uh. I have no idea," he said. "I mean, they've got a joint that's basically the same as a shoulder."

"Yeah, but. But, they don't have feet, do they?" said Sam. "So maybe they don't have shoulders."

Clint wondered if it would be wrong to get his phone out and film him. There was probably something in the ethics code, right? Of course, he technically wasn't an Avenger any more, so that code didn't apply to him.

But Steve would give him his Face of Epic Disapproval and Clint wasn't sure he could cope with that. Especially not as he'd already made him sad by stealing his best friend.

****

It took a while to pack everything up that Bucky might need, say goodbye to everyone, and fly out to the farm. The first thing Bucky did once Natasha and Bruce had flown off was glance around suspiciously at the woods, as if worried the birds were undercover Hydra agents.

"Tony put in a security system," Clint said, and got a glare that told him exactly what Bucky thought of Tony's ability to secure a location. Clint wondered if he remembered redoing the security at the base. Not that doing so had really helped much when they'd needed it, but they'd been guarding against a small-scale infiltration, not a full-on military assault.

"You want a tour?" he asked, and when Bucky nodded, took him the way around the property, pretending that he was showing him where everything was rather than helping him check that everything was secure.

By the time they'd been all the way around everything, it was starting to get dark and Clint was getting really tired. His body was still aching from all the layers of bruises he'd gained in the fight. He'd had a shower while Bucky packed, trying to wash away all the stiffness in hot water, but it hadn't done as much as he'd hoped to help him recover.

"Come on, let's unpack all your hoodies and find some dinner," he said, starting up into the house.

Bucky caught his arm, staring suspiciously at the front door.

"It's safe," said Clint. "No one else here."

Bucky looked at him for a long moment, then let go of his arm, but he stayed close as they went inside. Clint wondered if he should be concerned that he didn't seem to be saying a whole lot, but it had been a log day, he'd give it until tomorrow before he started panicking over Bucky's emotional state. Right now he was too exhausted to be able to think beyond eating and sleeping.

Clint left him to prowl through all the rooms, checking out the exits, and headed straight to the kitchen to find out what food he had that was edible after two days away.

They ended up with pasta, which Bucky ate without paying any attention to. Probably the best plan; Clint's cooking skills were pretty poor. He filled the silence that Bucky's distraction left with a ramble about what he was planning to do to the house, various projects he was half-planning.

"Most of the bedrooms need fixing up a bit, but the one opposite mine is okay. We'll put you in there," he said, as they finished up.

Bucky frowned. "Not in your room?"

Clint shrugged. "I figured you'd want your own space. Get all your hoodies spread out."

"It feels like I'm getting a lot of mockery for those, when I don't remember getting any of them," said Bucky. "For all I know, you bought them all for me and I hated them."

"Trust me, way more of them would be purple if I'd bought them," said Clint, abandoning the dishes to be washed later. "Probably with references to the Terminator or Robocop or both."

He took Bucky upstairs and showed him the room, then left him to poke around and glare out of the windows. As much as he wanted to keep Bucky in his sights, it was probably better for them both if they managed some alone time occasionally. Besides, Clint needed to go over his weapons and make sure they were all clean and sharp, work out how many arrows he could salvage, that kind of thing. 

He pulled on tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt when he was done, figuring he wasn't going to do anything else tonight that he'd need clothes for, then glanced in Bucky's room.

Bucky had unpacked, but wasn't there. Clint swallowed the sudden fear that he'd been taken again, or had snapped back into being the Winter Soldier and was lurking somewhere waiting to take Clint out. He put his finger on his print and was relieved to feel that Bucky's main emotion was mild frustration combined with an underlying buzz of restlessness.

He went downstairs to find Bucky doing the dishes.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. "Would you have done them before you absolutely needed to?"

Clint shrugged. "Nah, probably not. Would it have mattered?"

That earned him a dark glare. "Come and show me where they all go," said Bucky. "Your kitchen makes no sense."

Clint wandered over and started putting plates away. "I just kinda put things where there's space."

Bucky made a frustrated noise. "You're a moron."

"Yeah," agreed Clint, happily.

****

They settled into a routine surprisingly easily. Clint spent an hour or two at the range every morning and most of the rest of his time working on the porch. Bucky stuck close to him, apparently not willing to be away from him for longer than the time it took to shower. On his best days, he helped Clint out with the porch, ribbing him about how often Clint managed to injure himself on various tools. On the not-so-good days, he just hovered near-by, glowering out over the countryside as if expecting hoards of bad guys to turn up.

He left most of Clint's clutter in place, but did spend an evening reorganising the kitchen cupboards, and then glared at Clint any time it looked like he was going to put something back in the wrong place. Clint found it kinda hilarious, but didn't want to push it in case it ended with Bucky snapping and taking him out. He was still pretty brittle at times, and his moods tended swing about without much notice.

The best part of the day, as far as Clint was concerned, was the evening. He'd started introducing Bucky to _Dog Cops_ , ignoring his muttered comments. No way anyone was living under his roof without a thorough appreciation of Sergeant Whiskers. Bucky started off curled up in his own corner of the couch, hand twitching on his knee, but when Clint sprawled out to properly relax, Bucky moved closer, letting Clint rest his head in his lap.

"This show is stupid," said Bucky after the end of the second episode.

"Blasphemy," said Clint, sleepily. "This show is the greatest thing that ever happened to humanity."

"Do I want to know how many episodes I'm gonna have to sit through?" asked Bucky.

Clint shrugged. "All of them, unless you remember watching them the first time. Actually, no, even if you do remember them. You ended up enjoying it, you know."

"Stockholm syndrome," muttered Bucky. Clint chose to ignore that.

Bucky stroked his hand down Clint's shoulder in a tentative manner as the theme tune for the next episode played. Clint made absolutely certain he didn't tense up even a little bit, smiling to himself as Bucky's hand stayed where it was, slowly relaxing until it was a heavy weight. He could get used to this.

****

Two nights later, Clint was startled awake by a nightmare and spent a few minutes glaring at the ceiling before giving up on sleep and getting up. A glass of water and he'd clear his mind out and then try again.

He opened his bedroom door and nearly had a heart attack. Bucky was standing in the dark landing outside his door, only his looming silhouette visible.

"Just fucking Christ," swore Clint, and then realised he hadn't put his aids in. "I'm deaf and I can't see your lips, don't bother speaking." He turned back and flicked on his bedroom light, then turned back to Bucky, who was at least partially illuminated now.

"Sorry," he said, shoulders slouching over. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's cool," said Clint, putting a hand on his racing heart. "It's not exactly the first time you've done that to me."

Bucky shook his head. "I don't remember that," he said. "I don't remember any of it." He clenched his hands into fists and for a moment Clint thought he was going to be spending tomorrow fixing a hole in his wall. Bucky added something else, but he mumbled it and the light wasn't good enough for Clint to catch it.

"Okay, you need to come inside, into the light," said Clint, pulling his door open. Bucky stared at him, then came inside and collapsed down to sit on the bed.

"I didn't want to disturb you," he said. 

"I was already disturbed," said Clint, sitting down beside him. "In both senses of the word. What's up?"

Bucky shrugged. "Just. Not a good night."

"Nightmares?" asked Clint. "You know, one of the first times we hung out was because we both had nightmares."

Bucky frowned. "Did we watch a really shitty movie?"

"Yup," said Clint. "That's it! You remember?"

Bucky shook his head. "It's blurry. I can't remember details, or how I felt about it or anything. Just how shitty the film was."

"It wasn't that bad," protested Clint, and got a dark look. "Okay, maybe it was. I don't know, I was mainly thinking about what a bad plan it was to have a crush on you."

"You had a crush on me?" asked Bucky. He looked astounded, as if the very idea was beyond him.

"Oh yeah," said Clint. "Well, look at you. You're all tall, dark and mysterious, with rippling muscles and that brooding bad boy look. Of course I had a crush on you."

Bucky looked down at himself, then back at Clint. "You make no sense."

Clint shrugged. "I'm pretty sure that bit is the bit that makes the most sense in all of this."

Bucky made a face but didn't say anything. He looked down at his fists, clenched in his lap. "I want to be able to remember. Things that happened only a few weeks ago, those should have come back by now, right?"

Clint shrugged. "I have no idea how this works. As far as I know, there's no logic to it."

Bucky made an irritated face at that. He took a couple of deep breaths. "I got back a lot when you linked with me," he said. "Would you do that again?"

"Yeah, sure," said Clint. "Whatever you want." He reached out to Bucky, putting his hand on his waist over his t-shirt. "All this stuff is completely up to you, yeah? We can go as fast or as slow as you want."

Bucky put his hand on Clint's, giving it a squeeze before he guided it under his shirt. "Just this, for now."

Clint shifted closer to him so that he could fit his finger to Bucky's print and let his feelings flow into him. Bucky rested his hand on Clint's wrist, taking a deep breath and then shutting his eyes.

"I don't understand how you can feel like this about me," he said. "I tried to kill you."

"You keep saying that," said Clint. "I'd like to point out that you didn't kill me, and that my best friend has also tried to kill me a couple of times. I think it's just a thing that people close to me feel the urge to do."

Bucky shook his head, reaching out with his metal arm to grip Clint's shoulder. "No. That's not right. Anyone tries to hurt you, I'll take them apart."

"You know I can look after myself, right?" asked Clint.

Bucky just shook his head again and then curled in towards him, resting his forehead against Clint's shoulder. His metal arm slid down to encircle Clint's back and Clint put his other arm around his waist to brace him. After a moment, Bucky gently tugged his finger away from his print, but didn't move away apart from that. Clint happily just held on, enjoying the warm security of having Bucky in his arms.

After a few minutes he felt breath on his neck and the vibration of a voice.

“Can't hear you,” he reminded Bucky.

Bucky pulled back so that Clint could see his mouth. “Can we lie down?”

“Sure,” said Clint, trying to ignore the part of him that was getting over-excited about the idea of finally having Bucky in his bed. “Let me just-”

He pulled the blankets out from under them, then paused. “You mind if I turn the light out? I can put my aids in if you want to talk.”

Bucky shook his head. “Turn it out. We can just sleep.”

Clint nodded and got up to turn out the light, then made his way back to the bed and climbed in, beside where Bucky had stretched out. He shifted close enough to rest against him, not sure where the line was on being too smothering. Bucky reached out and put his metal arm around him, pulling him in close so that Clint's head was resting on his shoulder, close enough to his neck to be on flesh rather than metal. Okay, awesome, apparently there wasn't a line.

He let his eyes fall shut, vaguely wondering how it was possible to feel so secure like this when he was being held by a Hydra-built arm capable of crushing bone into powder. Mostly he was just pleased that it wasn't as cold as he thought metal should be.

Bucky's other arm stroked down over Clint's shoulder and down his arm, fingertips trailing over skin. He traced over the shape of Clint's upper arm and for a moment he was tempted to show off by tensing his biceps, but it seemed like a lot of effort.

Bucky's fingers trailed down further, down the inside of Clint's forearm to his wrist. Clint's other arm was lying loosely between them, and Bucky continued across to it, touching the centre of his palm before stroking up to circle his print. Clint's eyes opened again, staring out into the darkness of the room as he held his breath with anticipation.

A moment later, Bucky's finger connected with Clint's print and a wave of emotion flooded over him.

If he'd properly thought about it, he'd have assumed that Bucky's feelings for him right now would be the kind of tentative affection you felt for someone you'd just met but know you want to spend lots more time with. Instead, it was a rush of adoration and wonder, with a sense that Clint was the only rock Bucky was clinging to, the only thing making sense right now.

Clint was dimly aware that that wasn't right. He needed to make sure Bucky reconnected with Steve at some point. Right now, though, he was just going to shut his eyes and breath through the joy of knowing his soulmate felt so much for him. He turned his hand to clench at Bucky's shirt with his fingers.

A moment later, Bucky's finger moved off his print and the link broke. Clint let out a long, shuddering breath.

“Thanks,” he whispered. If Bucky made any reply, he didn't hear it. He shut his eyes and let himself slide into sleep.

****

A few days later, Clint was up a ladder pulling out the rotten boards from the porch roof (which turned out to be most of them) when he heard an unexpected sound. A dog was barking, somewhere near-by.

He glanced around to find where Bucky was and realised he had disappeared from view. He had been taking the boards Clint threw down around to the woodshed, but he should have been back by now.

The dog barked again and there was a faint shout, and Clint felt his stomach clench. Oh god, this was not good.

He jumped most of the way down the ladder and then ran around the corner of the house to find the source of the commotion.

Bucky was by the woodshed, gun in his hand pointed firmly at Mr Hughes, who had his hands raised and looked terrified. A collie was running between them in confusion, occasionally barking at Bucky.

“Bucky!” called Clint, running over. “Bucky! Put the gun down!”

Bucky didn't take his eyes away from Mr Hughes. “He's an intruder.”

“He's the neighbour,” said Clint. “Bucky, I promise you. He's fine.” Bucky didn't lower the gun, but he did spare Clint a glance. “He's known me since I was born,” added Clint, in a softer tone.

Bucky stared back at Mr Hughes, then dropped the gun.

“Oh, thank god,” said Mr Hughes, letting his hands fall. “Clint, what the hell kind of friends do you have?”

“Twitchy ones,” said Clint, and got a glare from Bucky. “Oh, don't give me that look. Are you going to tell me that you're the height of calm serenity right now?”

The glare turned into a glower, but Clint ignored it in favour of stepping between Bucky and Mr Hughes. “I'm sorry,” he said. “He's had kind of a rough time. He's here for a bit of R&R, you know?”

Mr Hughes had crouched down to pet the dog, clearly trying to calm it. He sent Clint a look. “Not really, no, but I'll take your word for it.”

“I apologise,” said Bucky stiffly. He tucked his gun away, which Clint knew didn't mean he'd decided Mr Hughes harmless, only that he was giving him the benefit of the doubt. “I wasn't expecting to see any strangers.”

“Trust me, I'm not going to come over unannounced again,” said Mr Hughes, and Clint winced.

“I'm sorry, Mr Hughes, my life is kinda crazy, and that tends to extend to my friends. This is Bucky. He's a great guy, I swear, just-”

“Twitchy,” finished Mr Hughes. “Yeah, okay. I'll take your word for it.” He stood back up, leaving the dog to twine around his feet for a moment before he headed over to investigate Clint. Clint couldn't resist dropping to pet him, even if it did give Bucky a clear shot at Mr Hughes. He probably wasn't going to shoot him right now and besides, dog.

“Who's a good boy?” he asked the dog as he stroked over his head and ruffled his fur. “Barking so I knew to come running? You did that, you're a good boy.”

“I was coming over to try and pin you down for that beer,” said Mr Hughes. “But I can tell you've got your hands kinda full here.”

Clint over his shoulder at Bucky, who was staring at the dog as if he were a complex puzzle. “You okay, Bucky?”

Bucky's eyes flicked up to meet Clint's, and he nodded. “You wanted a dog,” he said. “When you told me about this farm, you mentioned getting a dog.”

Clint grinned. “Did I? See, now you're remembering things that I've forgotten about.”

“You were drunk,” said Bucky. Okay, that explained it.

“Clint's always liked dogs,” said Mr Hughes. “Do you remember Rosie?”

“Oh man, yeah,” said Clint. Rosie had been Mr Hughes's dog when Clint had been a kid. He used to sneak over to play with her when he thought his dad wasn't going to notice. He wasn't always right about that, but getting to play with her had always seemed worth what came after.

“Did you ever get your own?” asked Mr Hughes.

Clint shook his head. “There were dogs at the circus, but none that were mine,” he said. “And then my job didn't allow it.” Nothing about being a super-secret assassin spy really allowed for a dog. There was too much travelling, for one thing.

“I wanted a dog when I was a kid too,” said Bucky, slowly. “A neighbour had one.” Clint stood up as Bucky's face screwed up with the effort of remembering. “Her name was- Her name was-” He let out a grunt of frustration and shook his head. “No, it's not there.”

“Steve will know,” said Clint.

Bucky shook his head and Clint sympathised. Being told something wasn't the same as remembering it for yourself.

“Well, I'll leave you two to it,” said Mr Hughes. “The offer of the beer's still open, just let me know when you've got time.” He gave Bucky a careful look. “You can even bring your friend, if he promises to leave all his weapons behind.”

There was no way in hell Bucky would agree to that, but Clint appreciated the thought. Most folks would feel justified in never having anything to do with either Bucky or Clint again after having a gun pulled on them.

Bucky looked uncomfortable and Clint knew he was beating himself up about it. “Tell you what,” he said, slowly, “how about you come over here, maybe in a week or two? Bring Mrs Hughes with you.”

“Clint,” said Bucky, very quietly.

Clint pretended he hadn't heard. One of the best perks of being deaf was getting away with doing that on occasion. “I absolutely promise no weapons,” he added to Mr Hughes.

Mr Hughes gave him a long look, then glanced back at Bucky and nodded. “Okay, we'll do that then. I'll let you know.”

“Awesome,” said Clint. “And, uh, feel free to bring the dog.”

Mr Hughes raised an eyebrow. “How about if we just send Chopper on his own?”

“That would also be fine,” said Clint, reaching down to pet him again.

“I think it'll probably be better if we come with. It doesn't feel like we can trust you to return him.”

Clint gave him his best wide-eyed innocent look. Mr Hughes didn't look convinced but, then, it had never worked on him when Clint was a kid either.

Mr Hughes headed back down the drive to the gate with Chopper running ahead of him. Clint stood with Bucky as he watched until they were both off the property, then clapped a hand to his arm. 

“Come on, I think it's time for lunch about now.”

Bucky turned to frown at him. “Are you sure it's a good idea to have civilians over here?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Clint. “Why not?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I nearly shot him.”

Clint shrugged. “But you didn't. And now you know he's around, and a friend, it'll be fine. Besides, we'll be on our territory, right? If it gets too much, you can just go upstairs and hide in your room, and avoid the many embarrassing stories that Mrs Hughes is likely to tell about me, not to mention having to play with the dog.”

Bucky looked intrigued. “Do you think she'll have photos?”

“God, I really hope not,” said Clint.

****

When Sam's doctors finally declared him well enough to travel, he and Steve flew over the very next weekend. Well enough to travel, of course, didn't mean well enough to do anything else, but Clint dragged out an old lounger and put cushions from the couch on it so that Sam could sit out in the sun and watch Steve pretend to know jackshit about rebuilding a porch.

“Hey, if you're all good here, I was going to pop out and get some supplies in,” said Clint. He hadn't wanted to leave Bucky alone long enough to go shopping since they'd got there, and there was no way he had enough left in the house now to feed Steve and Sam. Not to mention that he really needed timber for the next stage of the porch.

Bucky turned and gave him a wild, betrayed look. “I'll come,” he said.

“Nope,” said Clint. “For two reasons. The first is that we can't leave our guests here alone, that's inhospitable-”

“We could come too,” said Steve, glancing at Sam.

“Yeah, not gonna work,” said Clint. “Because the second reason is that I'm trying to keep a low profile around here, and not get recognised. No one's going to take a second look at me unless I'm carrying around a bow, but one glance at Bucky's arm, or your face, Steve, which has been plastered all over the country for over half a century, and everyone's going to know this is now an Avengers Rehabilitation Centre.”

“He has a point,” said Sam.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Clint looked at Bucky, who scowled at him. “You better not get into any trouble.”

“I'd make a comment about how even I can't turn a trip to the grocery store into trouble, but I'd probably just jinx myself,” said Clint. “Don't worry about me, just stay here, ask Cap if he remembers the name of that dog, maybe spar with him, I don't know, do super-soldier bonding things.”

“You're not subtle,” said Bucky.

Clint just grinned at him and left them to it. The sooner Bucky and Steve properly reconnected, the sooner Bucky would realise that he had more than just Clint to rely on. He needed to remember he had a best friend as well as a soulmate, because best friends were awesome. Even when they disappeared to places unknown in order to, presumably, have a crazy amount of sex with a guy who occasionally turned into a giant green monster and, oh man, why had Clint thought those two things in the same sentence? He was never going to unsee that mental image.

He filled the truck up with lumber, food and beer, then added a bit more beer just in case. When he got back, Steve and Bucky actually were sparring, which he hadn't expected despite suggesting it. Unless Bucky had snapped and was trying to kill Steve again. Clint pressed a finger to his print and, no, that was just focus, confidence, and a certain amount of pleasure that Clint decided to pretend was from hanging out with his friend rather than the thrill of violence.

As he pulled up, Bucky backed away from Steve to look over at him. Clint gave him a quick wave, which was when Steve took advantage of Bucky's distraction to tackle him to the ground. Yeah, they were definitely getting on. Awesome.

Clint got out his new barbecue for dinner, which meant an argument over the best way to cook meat over an open flame that no one really seemed to win. Well, except that they all got to eat shedloads of grilled meat, which was a pretty awesome kind of winning. They drank a few beers, which would have been fine but Clint realised after a couple that as Sam wasn't drinking while on his meds, he was the only one getting a buzz. Yet another downside of hanging out with super-soldiers.

“I should have bought you four bottles of vodka,” he said to Bucky when he laughed at him tripping over his own feet on the way to the couch.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Can't get drunk, remember?”

Right, apparently Bucky didn't remember that any more. “You holed up in a motel and drank four bottles of vodka. Apparently that got you drunk, although I wasn't around to see it. At some point you havta get drunk where I can watch, yeah?”

Steve gave Bucky a disappointed look. “That's really not healthy, Buck.”

“I don't remember it!” protested Bucky. “How can I get shit for something I don't remember?”

“I guess life's just not fair,” said Steve.

Bucky twitched and stared at him. “My mom used to say that,” he said, in a voice that wasn't completely steady.

“Yeah,” said Steve, very quietly.

There was a pause as they just looked at each other, and then Bucky let out a long breath, ducking his head. Clint put a hand on his leg and gave it a squeeze.

“Your mom,” said Bucky, very slowly. “She used to say that life wasn't about fair or not fair, but about taking every chance you could to even the scale.”

“Yeah,” agreed Steve. “I thought about her saying that just before Project Rebirth.”

“Yeah, you sure proved her right,” said Bucky, and held up his beer in a toast. Steve clinked his bottle against it and they shared a grin.

Okay, Operation: Get Bucky His Best Friend Back was a definite success, so now Clint could stop feeling like a dick for stealing Captain America's childhood best friend. He mentally high-fived himself.

“I need to go to bed,” said Sam, with a sigh. “I'm exhausted.”

“I'll take you up,” said Steve, setting his beer down and standing up. “You gonna let me carry you, or get all weird about your masculinity?”

“It's not weird to not want to be carried about like a bride,” protested Sam.

“I say, if you've got a super-soldier willing to save you the hassle of walking, go for it,” said Clint.

“Oh, really?” asked Bucky, raising an eyebrow at him. “So, if I offered-”

“Obviously that only applies to when you're injured,” cut in Clint. “Different rules for the recovering war wounded, yeah?”

Sam pulled himself to his feet. “Sorry to disappoint, but I'm going to make it on my own two feet.”

“Good night, then,” said Clint.

Sam did make it upstairs on his own, but Steve hovered very close beside him, an arm carefully keeping him upright.

Bucky nudged Clint with his elbow. “Ginger. The dog my neighbour had when I was a kid was called Ginger. I remembered.”

Clint beamed at him. “Awesome,” he said, and couldn't stop himself from pressing a kiss against Bucky's lips. Just a quick one, nothing more than a peck to show how pleased Clint was for him.

Bucky gave him a startled look that made Clint worry he'd over-stepped something, then he sat up, took Clint's head in his hands, and kissed him back, far more thoroughly. Oh. Oh, well, okay then. Clint could roll with this. He took Bucky's shoulders so that he could keep him close and just gave himself into it.

He kinda lost track of time in the pleasure of just kissing Bucky, until Bucky finally pulled back and cleared his throat. “Want to go to bed?”

Clint's brain went to the predictable place and he blinked at Bucky, who twitched. “Not for- Just to sleep. Or kiss some more, but I don't think I'm up for more. Not yet.”

“Sleeping's fine,” said Clint. “Seriously, although the kissing is great as well. Frankly, if you think the first time I have sex with my soulmate is going to happen while Captain America is in the same house, radiating moral outrage, you're sorely mistaken.”

“Steve's not like that,” said Bucky. “I mean, you didn't have a room next to him and Sam, but you must know him well enough to know that.”

Clint nodded. “Oh yeah, Steve's not like that. But, see, this is the house where I grew up, where I hoarded Captain America comics and the occasional trading card, and nothing about the guy in those comics would have had any truck with the kind of things I'll want to do to you, once we get there.”

“Wasn't I portrayed as a kid in those?” asked Bucky.

Clint held up a hand. “We're not going to talk about that, I'll creep myself out.”

Bucky laughed, and his face looked so open and relaxed that Clint wanted to take a photo of it. There was none of the tension that had been lingering ever since he'd come back, just honest amusement and pleasure. God, Clint really did love him, a scary amount.

“Okay, fine,” said Bucky. “Bed then, and we'll leave the intriguing notion of the kinds of things you want to do to me for another time.”

Clint nodded and stood up.

“And you're sure you don't want to be carried up?” added Bucky as he got up too. “Cuz, the offer's always there.”

“Very sure,” said Clint. “But if you're eager to be of service, you can always bring me coffee in the morning.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” said Bucky as they headed upstairs.

****

Steve had brought Bucky a new phone from Tony. After he and Sam left, Clint saw Bucky sending the occasional text on it and every time gave himself a mental high-five for getting them to be friends again. And then texted Natasha, just so she could appreciate his genius.

 _Hardly your most difficult mission,_ she sent back. _Their friendship was legendary before either of us were born. Exactly how hard did you have to work to fix it?_

Okay, so, maybe Clint had just had to leave them alone together, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he was awesome. That was always the point.

A couple of mornings later they were at the range, Clint proving to himself that his arm was completely fine now as he hit bullseye after bullseye while Bucky went through his daily routine of four perfect shots with each of his many guns. After a few weeks at the farm, it felt comfortingly familiar.

“Your neighbour said when he's coming over yet?” asked Bucky, pausing to change guns.

“Nope,” said Clint.

Bucky grunted, then shot four shots in rapid succession.

“I can't remember the last time I socialised with a civilian.”

“You can't remember much,” Clint pointed out. “Hey, you want to see me put out a candle with an arrow?”

“Fine, then I don't _know_ the last time I socialised with a civilian,” said Bucky. “And, hell yeah, I can't believe you've never shown me before.”

“I'll get a candle,” said Clint, turning towards the house.

Bucky walked with him. “I mean, I didn't when I was with you guys, right? And before that I was in hiding, then with Hydra, then in the Army. It must have been...shit, it must have been 1944.”

“Civilians aren't that different,” said Clint, heading up through the construction site that was the porch. “You just have to make fewer jokes about killing people, is all. And remember not to blab out any military secrets.”

“I don't know any military secrets,” said Bucky, waiting in the doorway while Clint rummaged through a drawer for a candle, and then tried to remember where he'd put the matches. “I mean, I guess knowing we're here is a secret, but they already know that one.”

“You know we're soulmates and they don't,” said Clint. Why the hell had he decided to put matches there?

Bucky frowned. “That's not a _military_ secret.”

“Of course it is,” said Clint, heading back down to the range. “The identity of the Avengers' soulmates is highly classified. So, you also know about Natasha and Bruce, and Steve and Sam, that's three military secrets. Pepper and Tony everyone knows about, because Tony is shit at secrets.”

Bucky was quiet as they walked back to the range and Clint bent down to get the candle to stand up straight on the ground. Maybe he should have bought something flat to balance it on.

“So, that's why you told him I was just a friend looking for somewhere to recoup after a bad time?” Bucky asked, eventually.

Clint glanced back over his shoulder. “Well, yeah. Do you know how much risk being the most important person to an Avenger, even an ex-Avenger, would mean to you? Not to mention the risk to me if Hydra find out that you've got a vulnerability like a soulmate.”

“Oh,” said Bucky. Clint turned back to light the candle.

“I thought you just didn't want to admit the guy who just nearly shot him was your soulmate,” said Bucky, just as Clint got the candle going.

“Oh, hey, no,” he said, standing and walking back to him. He took Bucky's hands in his own. “Are you kidding? I'm so proud to be linked with you. That after everything you've been through, all the shit that's happened, you're able to still find space in your heart for someone like me. I'd shout it from the rooftops if I could, but it puts a huge target on both of us.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, okay, I get that.”

Clint leaned in to kiss him, then stepped back and unslung his bow from his shoulder. “Prepare to be amazed,” he said. He pulled back, concentrated for a heartbeat, and released. The arrow cut straight through the flame, stifling it without ever touching the candle.

“Oh, hell yeah!” he crowed. “Still the best.”

“That was pretty cool,” agreed Bucky. “Think you can do it from ten metres further back?”

“I can do it from twenty,” said Clint, slapping the lighter in Bucky's hand. “Light her up and I'll show you.”

Bucky lit the candle then stood back as Clint stared along the line of an arrow. It would be kinda embarrassing to mess it up after his confidence. He let the arrow go, and then wondered why he'd worried as it cut the flame off with the same accuracy as the first.

“Impressive,” said Bucky, walking back up to Clint. “Think I can do it with a bullet?”

Clint laughed. “I think you can destroy the only candle I've got with a bullet,” he said, “but it might be best if you didn't.”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He was close enough to reach out and run his hand down over Clint's biceps. “You gonna show me some more trick shots?”

Clint gave him the flirtiest smirk he could manage. “So you can ogle my arms?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You saying you don't want me ogling you?”

“Ogle away,” said Clint, raising his bow and sending an arrow straight into the bullseye of the target without looking away from Bucky's face.

Bucky looked down at the target, then back at Clint. “Okay, now you're just turning me on.”

“Really?” asked Clint, pulling out two arrows and notching them to the string. He fired them at the same time and landed them one on either side of the arrow already buried in the target. “Well, that doesn't sound like something I'd want to encourage.”

Bucky let out a long breath, then leaned in to kiss Clint, apparently done with words. That was cool, Clint could live with that. He pulled Bucky closer, putting the hand that wasn't holding his bow around his back to keep him there.

“Wow,” he said against Bucky's lips once he'd pulled back slightly, “watching me shoot really does turn you on.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky. He traced his hand down Clint's arm to the edge of his bracer. “Let me show you.” He wriggled his finger in underneath the bracer to press against Clint's print.

The burst of emotion that came through to Clint from him included the mix of affection and joy that he was becoming used to, but over-riding both of them was a strong sense of arousal.

“Oh man,” he breathed, staring at Bucky's eyes, which were very close, his pupils dilated. “Okay, yeah.” He kissed Bucky again, dropping his bow so that he could cling on to him, hand spread out over the muscles of his back.

Bucky made a noise of approval deep in his throat that went straight to Clint's dick, then backed Clint up until his back was pressed against a tree, crowding in so close that their bodies were pressed together all the way down, one leg pressing between Clint's.

“Wanted to do this the first time I saw you,” he muttered in a pause between kisses, then ran his mouth along Clint's jaw.

“Yeah,” gasped Clint, pushing his hands underneath Bucky's shirt so that he could run them over skin. He took care to avoid touching his print, unwilling to find out if that would be too much for Bucky and risk losing the moment. “You should have just done it.”

Bucky snorted. “Didn't know how. Didn't properly understand it.” He made a frustrated noise. “They took that away from me. Twice.”

“You got it back,” said Clint, pressing a kiss to his lips. “We're both here now.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, hands running over Clint's shoulders as he kissed him again.

Clint lost track of time, caught up in the heat of Bucky's mouth and the feel of his skin under his hands. He could feel himself getting hard, which he hoped Bucky either hadn't noticed, or wasn't going to get pressured by. Just because making out against a tree gave Clint an erection didn't mean that he didn't respect Bucky's boundaries, or whatever. The minute he wanted to stop, that was fine. Clint would just...go and have a very long shower, probably.

It didn't seem like that was going to be any time soon though, not from the way Bucky was leaning into Clint, hands roaming over his body as his breath grew as rough as Clint's was. He shifted his weight and suddenly Clint could feel that he was hard too, cock pressed up against Clint's thigh. Oh man, that was either too much, or not enough, or just....fuck.

Clint pulled back, resting his head against the tree as he caught his breath. “What's the plan?” he asked.

Bucky cupped his metal hand around the side of Clint's head, thumb nestling around his ear. “Don't really have one,” he said. “Kinda want to fuck you against this tree, though.”

Aw, man. Clint couldn't stop himself from thrusting against Bucky's leg, which got him a wild grin and another kiss. Well, okay, this seriously looked like Bucky wasn't having any reservations, maybe Clint should just go with it.

“I guess that's one of the perks of having your own land,” he said. “No indecent exposure raps.” He dropped his hands down from around Bucky's waist to slide over his ass, pulling him closer in. Jesus, that felt good in his hands.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You'd be okay with that, then?”

“Does it feel like I'm not?” asked Clint, pushing his cock against Bucky again to point out that it was now rock hard. “I'm up for whatever you want, at this point.”

Bucky grinned. “I want this,” he said, and kissed Clint again, hard and thorough, as if he was trying to devour him. His flesh hand trailed down Clint's chest to his crotch, stroking over and then squeezing at his erection, making Clint gasp into his mouth.

“Then you've got it,” said Clint, not really paying attention to what he was saying as he let his eyes close and thrust up into Bucky's hand. “Just- Just touch me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, bracing himself against the tree with his metal hand as he opened Clint's fly. He leaned in and kissed him again as he got his hand around Clint's cock, gripping it just tightly enough to make need surge down Clint's spine. Oh man, it really had been too long since Clint had felt any hands other than his own.

“Fuck,” he muttered as Bucky started to move his hand in rough, fast jerks, staring down at Clint's face as if there was more to see there than the desperation of a really horny guy.

“So fucking hot,” he muttered as Clint's breath started to pant out. Clint gripped at Bucky's waist as if it was the only thing keeping him up, knees turning to water as he just gave himself over to the feel of Bucky's hand, the dark look in his eyes, the hard press of his body.

“Oh man, I'm gonna-” he bit out.

“Yeah, come on,” said Bucky. “C'mon, Clint. I want to see it.”

Clint came with his eyes squeezed shut, teeth pressing into his lower lip as he surged up into Bucky's grip.

“Fuck,” muttered Bucky. “So hot, Clint, fucking-” He pressed his own erection against Clint's leg as if he couldn't help himself.

“Gimme a sec,” said Clint, catching his breath. “I'll help you out with that.” Bucky stared at him for a long moment and Clint added, “If you want. Whatever you want, man.”

Bucky kissed him with the kind of desperation that should have been sloppy but was just hot. “I want you,” he said, in a low voice that thrummed across Clint's skin. Fuck, he probably shouldn't be this close to getting hard again already, right?”

“I'm starting to see where the month-long sex marathon that Rhodey mentioned comes in,” he said. He ran his hand down Bucky's side, trying to reassure him. “You got me. What do you want?”

Bucky gave him the kind of blindly frustrated look that made Clint think his brain wasn't working well enough for decisions at the moment.

“You want me to suck you off?” he offered, because right now he couldn't imagine anything he wanted more than to have Bucky's cock in his mouth, unless it was to have it in his ass, but that would mean going up to the house for lube and such, and there was no way either of them had the patience for that.

“God,” breathed Bucky, head dipping to rest against Clint's. “Yeah. Yeah, do it.”

Clint didn't bother with anything fancy. He kissed Bucky, hard and fast, then dropped to his knees, leaving Bucky to brace himself on the tree as Clint opened his jeans, pulling out his cock. Fuck, he was so hard. Clint licked over the head of it, then took as much of it into his mouth as possible, sucking hard as Bucky bit off a swear word over his head and dropped a hand to cradle the back of Clint's head.

His flesh hand, which was something of a relief. Clint trusted Bucky, but he wasn't sure he want his metal hand on his skull at a time when he might lose control.

He held on to Bucky's hips as he concentrated on giving the guy the best damned blowjob Clint could manage. If he hadn't been kissed since the 1940s, he almost certainly hadn't been sucked off, which was a god-damned tragedy. 

“Fuck,” muttered Bucky. “Fuck, Clint, so fucking good.”

Well, yeah. Clint wasn't just awesome at archery. He traced his tongue over the soft skin on the underside of Bucky's cock, pulling back a bit so that he could swallow down some of the pre-cum that was leaking out. He stroked his thumbs over Bucky's hips, above his waistband where a strip of skin was showing. He wanted to slide his hand all the way up and press his finger to Bucky's print, but he didn't want to push any more boundaries than he already was. Next time. Next time, he'd mentioned it to Bucky before he had his mouth full of cock and couldn't ask if it would be too much.

“I'm gonna,” choked out Bucky, fingers tightening on Clint's head for a moment before he relaxed his hand again. “Clint.”

Clint gave a reassuring hum that he hoped he hoped would make it clear that he had this, but mostly just sent a vibration through Bucky's dick that made him groan. Well, whatever worked, right?

Bucky came a moment later, grunting as come flooded into Clint's mouth. He swallowed down most of it then spat the rest out on the ground as Bucky pulled in deep breaths over his head.

Clint tipped back on his heels to rest his back against the tree and grin up at Bucky. “Okay?”

“Fucking fantastic,” said Bucky, pulling his metal hand away from the tree with a splintering sound.

Clint frowned. “Did you make a hole in my tree?”

Bucky glanced at the trunk and winced. “Uh. No?”

“Liar,” said Clint. “I'd get upset, but half these trees have arrow holes in them so it might be a bit hypocritical.”

Bucky straightened up, tucking himself away and doing his jeans back up. Clint realised his pants were still undone and fixed it before standing up.

Bucky leaned in for a kiss and Clint pulled back, raising an eyebrow to ask him if he was sure. Bucky rolled his eyes and put a hand on Clint's neck to pull him back, kissing him as thoroughly as if he didn't still taste of Bucky's come.

“That was great,” he said.

“Not too much?” said Clint, because it was one thing to be up for sex when you were all turned on by your soulmate's epic archery skills, and quite another to be chill with it afterwards, when you were back to thinking with your brain rather than your cock.

Bucky shook his head. “I'd say it was just enough, but I'm not actually sure it was. Feels like it would take a whole lot more of that to be too much.”

Clint grinned at him. “Well, we could leave the porch for today and just spend it in bed instead,” he suggested.

“Get started on that sex marathon?” said Bucky. He considered it for a moment. “Yeah, fuck it. Why not?”

****

They had a lot of sex that day, and even more in the week or two following. Clint did eventually finish up with rebuilding the porch but it took him a lot longer than he'd thought it would. He wasn't complaining, though. Sex with Bucky was more than worth being a little delayed on some DIY.

Mr and Mrs Hughes came over for a beer one evening and Bucky was quiet to start with but had opened up by the end of the evening. Clint rewarded him for being all socially well-adjusted by fucking him long and slow, Bucky's legs wrapped around Clint's waist and their hands clasped together. Clint did press his finger to Bucky's print at the end, letting his feelings for him flood through just as Bucky came. If he was overwhelmed, it was in the good way that meant he curled up close to Clint afterwards, one arm locked around his waist while the other stroked over Clint's print, sending him occasional bursts of contented affection.

“Okay, so, you knocked that one out of the park,” he said.

“The sex or the socialising without going on a murder spree?” asked Bucky.

Clint considered. “Both, really, although I meant the not murdering people thing. The sex was fucking awesome too, though.”

“Yeah,” agreed Bucky, giving Clint a squeeze.

“You seem pretty much back to yourself,” added Clint, tentatively.

Bucky rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling for a while. “I guess I am,” he said, slowly. “I mean, there's still gaps in my memory. I guess there always will be. I don't feel like I'm gonna lose myself again, though. Not without something pushing me, anyway.”

Clint turned onto his side so that he could kiss Bucky. “That's awesome,” he said. “You got a handle on it so much quicker this time around.”

Bucky shrugged. “I had you,” he said, which made Clint have to kiss him again. “Besides, I don't reckon they did a particularly thorough job on me the second time around. I think they were kinda in a rush.”

“Maybe the fact that you'd already rebuilt yourself once meant you had a foundation to build on,” said Clint.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. At any rate, I reckon I'm pretty much where I was before they took me again.”

Clint grinned. “Great, then you'll be fine with me inviting everyone for that barbecue,” he said, and flopped back onto his back.

Bucky groaned. “Please tell me _everyone_ just means Steve and Sam.”

Clint shook his head. “Steve, Sam, Natasha and Bruce if I can persuade them to stop having sex for long enough to fly up here, Wanda, Vision, Rhodey, Tony and Pepper-”

Bucky groaned again, louder. “Not Stark, come on.”

Clint shook his head. “He's a friend,” he said, firmly. “Besides, he's given me a lot over the years, the least I can do is grill the man some meat.”

“I'll grill his meat,” muttered Bucky, darkly, then sighed. “Okay, fine. When you thinking?”

Clint shrugged. “The weekend after next? Gives us enough time to make sure there are enough beds and all that.”

“Fine,” said Bucky, with resignation. “I guess I can cope with that.”

Clint smiled and kissed him again. “Thanks, honey,” he said brightly, and got a glare that just made his smile widen as he pulled out his hearing aids and settled down to sleep.

****

Inviting every single Avenger, past and present, seemed like a great idea until Clint remembered just how much food they could all get through. It was probably a good thing that Thor was off doing important intergalactic things that meant he hadn't been on Earth for months, but Clint still found himself making three different shopping trips to make sure he had enough food and drink for everyone.

Natasha and Bruce arrived first, landing on the lawn in a quinjet Clint was pretty sure they weren't meant to still have. They look tanned, which narrowed down the places they could have been hiding out a bit, but Clint doesn't ask any questions. If Natasha had wanted him to know, she'd have told him. Otherwise, there was no way he'd find out.

She gave him a look over. “It's odd to see you without any bandages or band aids.”

Clint sighed. “I am capable of looking after myself, you know.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “He did his best to fall off a ladder last week, but I managed to prevent it.”

Clint sent him a glare. Traitor.

“Ah,” said Natasha, nodding. “Yes, that makes more sense.”

Another quinjet was coming in to land. For the first time, Clint wondered if having two incredibly advanced aircraft landing in a field in Iowa might send up any red flags anywhere. He dismissed the thought. That was what stealth mode was for, after all. If the government hadn't been able to track down Bruce the whole time he was away, then they wouldn't spot this either.

Everyone who was currently staying at Tony's tower was on the quinjet, which meant there were suddenly more people at Clint's farm than there had been since- Well, since he could remember. His parents hadn't been exactly big entertainers. He supposed the night they'd all spent here before Sokovia was the last time there'd been close to this many, but given how tired and demoralised everyone had been then, it hardly felt like it counted. It certainly felt a lot different with everyone in a good mood, greeting each other with smiles and the occasional back-slapping hug.

Clint felt Bucky shift next to him and wondered if it was going to be too much for him after all. He'd told him he was allowed to slip off for a moment alone any time he felt like it and no one would ask any questions, but he'd hoped he'd last longer than five minutes.

Instead of leaving, though, Bucky surprised him by stepping up to the last person Clint had thought he was going to talk to. He held his hand out to Tony with a sly grin Clint didn't trust.

“I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”

Tony gaped at him. “That should be my line!” he protested. “You can't use my line against me!” There was a pause and he shook his head. “Wait, you remember that?” He gave Clint a suspicious look. “Or did someone tell you about it?”

“I told him nothing,” said Clint, doing his best not to snigger. He glanced over and caught Steve's eye and saw the same amusement and pride warring. That was clear proof that Bucky was well on his way to being recovered and wasn't going to let what Hydra had done to him hold him back.

Tony looked back at Bucky with narrow eyes, then took his hand and shook it. “I almost think I liked you better when you were just silent and brooding in the corner.”

“Tony,” said Steve, reprovingly.

Tony let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, it's great that you're all sassy again. Cuz that's just what this team needs, more sassiness.”

“Well, we had to do something to replace the never-ending stream of bad jokes we used to get from you over the comms,” said Steve.

“Bad jokes,” repeated Tony. “ _Bad_ jokes. My jokes are gold, everyone knows that.”

After that, everything fell into place as easily as the other times the team had socialised together. Clint stopped worrying about Bucky needing someone to keep an eye on him and left him to it in favour of keeping everyone in food and drink. He ended up slumped on a couple of chairs with Natasha, watching Bruce and Tony have some argument that involved a lot of arm-waving and multi-syllable words.

“How's he doing?” he asked.

Natasha didn't answer immediately, clearly considering her answer. “Better,” she said. “It's hard for him to trust himself, but I think he's getting there.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, eyes seeking out Bucky where he was handing another beer. “I reckon that's something a few people on the team would understand.”

Natasha was silent for a while, then said, quietly. “I think he'll be coming back with me, when the base is rebuilt.” Clint looked at her, but she was still staring at Bruce. “Not to be on the team properly, like he was before. I don't think he wants to use the other guy like that. He wants to part of what we're doing, though.”

Clint nodded. “There's always room for back-up staff, especially ones that are scientific geniuses.”

She nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, then glanced over at him. “Always room for someone with years of combat experience, as well.”

Clint shook his head, but he couldn't find the words to deny that a part of him would always want to be part of the Initiative. He loved being at his farm and getting having a project he could work through and complete, but it was starting to feel a bit quiet out here. He glanced over at Bucky again to see him looking back at Clint. He raised his beer in a salute that Clint sent back.

“When's the base due to be finished?” he asked, redirecting the conversation.

Natasha suppressed an amused half-smile that meant she knew exactly what he was doing. “Soon,” she said. “Hill told me the plan was to re-open it in about a fortnight. She also told me that it seemed like Hydra's attack had been a commitment of almost all their resources, and the failure of it had severely crippled them. Fury's guys are still working on putting proper lines of intelligence in place, but all the reports so far show that it's going to take years for them to rebuild enough to be a threat again.”

“Well, that's fucking good news,” said Clint, raising his beer bottle up to her so she could chink her glass against it. “Fuck those bastards.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

****

The next morning, Clint opened his eyes to find Bucky already awake. He had his head propped up on his metal hand as he watched Clint slowly become alert enough to smile at him.

“Morning,” he said, stretching.

“Good morning,” replied Bucky in sign language, slightly awkwardly given his position.

Clint beamed at him. Bucky had remembered some of what he'd learnt of ASL before, but he'd also taken to studying the book he'd found again, as well as a few online tutorials Clint had found him. He'd pointed out that there wasn't any real need for Bucky to bother as Clint wore aids almost all the time, and could lipread pretty well when he didn't, but Bucky had just shrugged.

“Sleep well?” Clint asked, using his voice because it was less effort right now.

Bucky nodded. “Mostly,” he said.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Only mostly?”

Bucky shrugged. “There's a lot of people in this house right now,” he said, as if that was a full explanation. Clint knew what he meant. If you were used to being alone somewhere, suddenly having a whole group of people around, especially if they were people you were only just starting to trust, was jarring. If Bucky had been mostly okay with sleeping while surrounded by them all, that was probably the best they could expect right now.

He reached out for Bucky's hand and gave it a squeeze of support. “They'll be gone today.”

“Yeah,” said Bucky, looking down at their hands and turning Clint's so that he could stroke a thumb over the back of it. There was a comfortable silence while Clint considered whether or not he was okay with having sex with Steve in the house, and then remembered that Tony was also in the house and decided to leave it for later.

“Steve told me that they're going to be back at the base in a couple of weeks,” said Bucky.

Clint nodded. “Yeah, that's what Natasha told me too.”

“He asked me if I was going to move back,” said Bucky. Ah. Right.

Clint took a deep breath. “What did you tell him?” he asked, trying to keep his tangle of emotions out of his voice. Of course, being deaf meant he had no idea how well he succeeded, but he had a feeling it wasn't particularly well.

Bucky looked back up from their joined hands. “I said it would depend on you. I'm not going anywhere you're not.”

Relief settled in Clint's chest, warmth spreading out through his limbs. “Where do you want to be? I'll go wherever you are, remember?”

“You retired,” Bucky pointed out.

“I did,” agreed Clint. “Things change. What do _you_ want to do?” He couldn't help noting that Bucky was avoiding answering the question, which he had a feeling was because he thought Clint wouldn't like the answer. Screw that, Clint wasn't letting him get away with not having what he wanted, not after all the shit Hydra had put him through.

Bucky was silent for a long time, during which Clint did his best to be patient. “I want to go back,” he said eventually. “I want to be on the team, and help protect people. But I want to have you with me as well.”

“Then that's what we'll do,” said Clint. “We'll go be Avengers again. Doesn't mean we can't still come out here for a break every so often, you know. I'll probably need somewhere to recuperate every so often. I tend to get hurt a lot, I don't know if you noticed.”

Bucky shook his head. “You had a plan,” he said, quietly. “I'm ruining it.”

“You're giving me a better option,” corrected Clint. “That plan, that was made before I met you. Back when I thought I only had myself to worry about and was trying to pretend I had a long-term strategy that made sense. Now, I've got you. You're a much better long-term strategy.”

Bucky smiled, then leant over and kissed him, shifting to rest his body on top of Clint's. Clint locked his arms around his waist and kissed him back.

Bucky pulled back to look at Clint with an expression so contented that for a moment Clint thought he must have accidentally touched his print, because it telegraphed Bucky's feelings so clearly it felt like Clint was reading him.

“I love you, you know,” said Bucky.

Clint took a deep breath as the words settled in his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Love you too.”

Bucky's smile wasn't wide, but Clint didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful one. Bucky leaned in and kissed him again, then moved back to look down at him, his hand stroking over his skin as if he couldn't let go.

"You realise you won't be able to get a dog if we're on the team," he said.

Clint shrugged. "We'll get one later," he said. "Plenty of time for a dog when we're both old."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "You know you're not old now, right?" Ah, crap, apparently Clint had put the emphasis on the wrong word. He should probably put his aids in so that he could hear how what he was saying was coming out, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"I'm old enough," he said. "Not old in most jobs, maybe, but superheroing is a young man's game."

"You're fine," said Bucky. "Just got, you know, experience. Speaking as a guy who was trying to kill you a few weeks ago, and failed, it didn't feel like you were too old for it."

"I don't think I can claim it was my mad skills that stopped you killing me," said Clint. "If I hadn't been your soulmate, you'da shot me in the head."

Bucky flinched. "Don't," he said, hoarsely. He dropped down so that his forehead was resting on Clint's shoulder.

Clint turned onto his side in order to hold him close, fingers tangling in the strands of his hair as he cupped the back of his head. "Sorry. I'm just saying, I'm not exactly on the same standard as you or Steve."

Bucky moved back to rest on the pillow so that Clint could see his mouth. "You know we kinda have an advantage, right? I mean, the clue is the 'super' part of super-soldier."

"Yeah, yeah, smart ass," said Clint, moving forward to rest against Bucky's chest.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Clint's waist, holding him in place. "Do you know how many of the guys Hydra gave to me as a mission managed to survive?" he asked, in a low voice. "Just you, and Steve. You underestimate yourself."

Clint hadn't known that. For a moment he felt a thrum of pride, and then he realised what that meant for Bucky. All those deaths, stretching back decades.

He leaned in and kissed him, smoothing his thumb over his cheek.

"Plus, you know," said Bucky in a more upbeat tone, "you're the second greatest shot in the world. Unless we're using archaic weaponry."

Clint felt his eyes narrow. "Call my bow archaic again and you're not going to be getting anywhere near my weaponry," he said, pressing his hips against Bucky's to get his point across. "You wait, now my arm's better, I'll beat you on rifles, and then you'll only be better on handguns."

"I'm still holding out for slingshots," said Bucky. "I reckon I can take you on those."

"'Take me'?" repeated Clint, raising an eyebrow. "Is that what we're winning for being the best shot now?"

Bucky ran his hands up Clint's back and then back down to his ass. "Seems like we both win, that way."

"That's hardly in the spirit of competition," said Clint.

Bucky took hold of him and flipped them over, rolling until he was braced over Clint. "Are we meant to be competing now we're on the same team?" he asked. "Thought it was all about co-operation and pulling together?"

"Pulling together sounds good," said Clint, groping at his ass, and got an exasperated eyeroll.

Bucky leaned in to kiss him again, and Clint gave up on the idea of not having sex with the rest of their team in the building. After all, they'd be doing it often enough, once they were back at the base.

A thought occurred to him and he pulled away to whisper it in Bucky's ear. “Can you imagine how epic it's going to be to fuck on the beanbag chair?”

Bucky let out a groan that Clint could feel vibrate through his skin, then went back to kissing him. Clint just lay back and let him, happiness flowing through him.


End file.
